steeped by samia no.47 | 08.03.26
Stories in, around, & about the garden, from a novice gardener.
This Steeped is dedicated to my favorite plant people, Ferheen and Marcy. —S.A.
Note: I wrote these snippets throughout July. I hope you enjoy this post!
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I woke up around 7am and opened my curtains and window.
Four mourning doves were standing around on the tree stumps in our backyard, bobbing their heads. The mourning doves have become a newer sight, in addition to more butterflies and bumblebees. For the longest time, our backyard used to be cement and dirt. My dad chose to fill the swimming pool with concrete when my sister was very young.
A survey of our backyard now, which I’ve started to call “the garden”:
- there’s a shed that’s cluttered with my dad’s construction stuff, including rolls and rolls of blueprints
- a square of dirt where tiny trees grow in rows—white peach, figs, and pomegranate
- on either side of the backyard, two seasonal plots made of cinderblocks—I call them Rosemary Plot and Snap Pea Plot
- a scattering of pots with peppers, herbs, and strawberries
- poppies and wildflowers lining the width-wise fence
Our cat Naru is the best bird-watcher, and I sometimes join him at the window. The birds on the telephone wires look like musical notes, scattering up and down, a portal to a childhood watching PBS Kids. I’m sure there was a scene of birds and musical notes on Sesame Street or Between the Lions.
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I joke to Ferheen that I’ve come out of retirement as a gardener this season.
Last year, we planted vegetable sprouts or seeds when she was home, and I maintained it throughout the season. This year, I was reluctant to garden, for no particular reason.
Organically, April hit, and Ferheen and I set things in motion to plant cucumbers and sugar snap peas, using a trellis that reminds me of a jungle gym. When the sugar snap peas began sprouting, I couldn’t not go outside each morning and in between meetings to see how they were doing.
Summer veggies are enticing. Cucumbers with an herbaceous slant from the rosemary growing near it. Sugar snap peas that grow quickly and abundantly with their little tendrils latching onto anything. Tomato plants that sprout literally everywhere, even inside cinder blocks. Potatoes that can grow inside a cardboard box. Pepper plants that grow, without fail, every year. I’m already looking at the county planting guide to see what I should plant for fall—maybe it’s time for an autumn squash plot.
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When I was little, I used to play Harvest Moon on our GameCube,
In addition to Animal Crossing and adventure video games with the siblings, I was so invested in Harvest Moon and my farm. For starters, you can plant any kinds of fruit and vegetables on your farm and take care of farm animals, including a horse you can ride around town on. The farm also had egg incubators and dairy product machines. The Nintendo Power magazine would have a Harvest Moon planting guide that I would study diligently.
Throughout Forget-Me-Not Valley, herbs, mushrooms, and flowers grow abundantly and seasonally, in addition to fish in the river. You can forage things and then cook them or sell them for money. In town, one of your quests is to find a life partner, capturing the heart of one of three potential mates (it was so juicy for my younger self!). Basically, it’s a great game—and we had to have both the guy and girl main character versions.
One night, I dreamed that I was running out of fodder for the cows and goats in my Harvest Moon account. There was no grass to cut in the field to make hay bales to feed my “aminals” and very few bales left in the storage. My animals were disgruntled with hunger, and I remember the sheer panic and stress that Dream Samia was feeling. One of my cows keeled over with sickness. Still, after knowing it was just a dream, I paid extra attention to how much fodder I had in the barn.
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An excerpt of My Garden Book by Jamaica Kincaid:
“In a conversation with such a person (a gardener), A sentence, a thought that goes something like this—”You know, when I was such and such an age, I went to the market for a reason that is no longer of any particular interest to me, but it was there I saw for the first time something that I have never and can never forget”—floats out into the clear air, and the person from whom these words or this thought emanates is standing in front of you all bare and trembly, full of feeling, full of memory.
Memory is a gardener’s real palette; memory as it summons up the past, memory as it shapes the present, memory as it dictates the future.”
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This is the ongoing story of the rogue tomato.
Last summer, we planted a few tomatoes in our plots. One day, while watering the plants, I saw a tomato shaped plant growing outside of the plot. I snapped a photo and hastily texted my sister.
That rogue tomato grew densely, and gave us so many juicy cherry tomatoes. We let it wither throughout winter and spring, until we finally pulled it up in April.
This year, we’ve had over 30 rogue tomato plants growing and counting, no doubt due to the Original Rogue Tomato’s bounty. There’s a big one near the fence and a few big ones outside the plot, where the OG one was. Several sprouts popped up inside the cinder blocks, vine-like with spindly roots and in a cluster in the sugar snap pea plot. Ferheen and I originally thought they were eggplants, but as they grew a little, I could see they were just struggling tomato plants, lol.
Our rosemary plot was fairly empty, so I tried transplanting ten tomato sprouts there. Very soon, two of them dried up and four or five of them were eaten by squirrels or birds—apparently they’re nutritious! I was a bit disappointed. Like, Why hadn’t I just left them where they were?! At the same time, I reminded myself: So, what?! Everything is data!
I got the itch again and transplanted a few more tomato sprouts in that plot a few days later. This time, bigger ones, so they wouldn’t get eaten by neighborhood animals. Now, at least eight of them are doing pretty well so far in the rosemary plot, with twelve tomato plants sprouting in the cabinet, waiting to be given to friends and family.
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The elementary school garden was a sight of childlike wonder…and mischief.
My friends and I would volunteer to bring pales of uneaten oranges and apples and carrots to the school garden, after most kids finished eating at the cafeteria. Two by two, we’d carry these Home Depot orange buckets down the covered walkway, to the other side of the school, where the garden was.
I adored the school garden. Throughout our years, we’d go to study tadpoles, feel the fur-soft ears of sage, taste the spiciness of arugula or the bitterness of swiss chard for the first time, gasp in admiration when the school gardener pulled a purple carrot from the soil, draw and label flowers with crayons. The garden consisted of rows and rows of plots, a garden shed on one end, a giant compost machine on the other, and a beautiful pond with a koi fish and rocks and a little gurgling water fall.
So, my friends and I would take the buckets to the composter, toss them in. And we rarely turned the composter around like we were supposed to. We mainly hung out there for the duration of the lunch period, memorably, being late for class and getting a scolding from our 5th grade teacher once.
One morning, my friends and I get pulled out of class and sent to the garden. Something had happened the night before. When we arrived, we saw the pond, but it was not quite the idyllic pond we were used to. The waterfall wasn’t running. Garden gloves, enough for a class of thirty, were drowning in the pond. The koi fish were lifeless. People had snuck into the garden the night before, cut open the shed lock, and had vandalized the pond. The security cameras weren’t working properly, so the culprits weren’t caught on tape.
I remember the image of the drowning gloves in the pond, but not the aftermath. The teachers said the police had a few questions for us, but I don’t remember talking to the police. The teachers must have realized it wasn’t worth us talking to the police, after the little we were able to share, aside from our sadness. My friends and I lost our lunch time sanctuary for a few days. And life moved on.
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A List of Children’s Books, In & Around the Garden:
- The Tale of Peter Rabbit written & illustrated by Beatrix Potter
- The Berenstain Bear Scouts and the Humongous Pumpkin written by Stan & Jan Berenstain, illustrated by Michael Berenstain
- The Little Red Hen retold by Lucinda McQueen
- The Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar written & illustrated by Eric Carle
- Disney Faeries: Lily’s Pesky Plant written by Kirsten Larsen and illustrated by Judith Holmes Clark
- Alice in Wonderland written by Lewis Carroll, illustrated by John Tenniel
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In Which The Raccoon Bandits Come To Collect Taxes.
“I heard some noises last night, around 4am,” My dad said, one morning, a few days ago. “When I opened the curtains, three raccoons were looking at me from the fence.”
When we went to the backyard to do some gardening, something was amiss. There were holes all over our garden plots! The tiny dil sprouts were shaken about in their pot.
My dad and I laughed when we connected the dots.
All in all, at least 1 tomato sprout and a few dill sprouts were snatched.
And I now know why gardeners use netting on their plants.
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I wake up on a Monday morning, adjusting to my reality after a dream I can’t remember.
Today feels heavy, the particular kind of heaviness when something is not quite right in life. In the particular way that may involve having hard conversations and getting clear with myself about what I want and need. These 7am or 3am scaries are fewer but more pronounced in this season of life.
When I finally get up, the dewy, early August morning air smells like back to school season, Dreams by the Cranberries, and a tinge of mint and green onion. I’m reminded of a podcast episode about gardening, and the serotonin-releasing byproducts of gardening and touching soil.
So, I shuffled through my morning routine, put on sunscreen, and went to the garden. And to see if the raccoons and squirrels got to my newly planted green bean seeds (they did…).
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Reminders and lessons from the garden:
- Nature is consistent in both its predictabilities and unpredictabilities.
- The art of problem-solving, asking very specific questions, and not trusting Google AI overview.
- The way that small and consistent effort can pay off.
- Even rogue tomatoes can thrive in harsh, clay-filled soil.
- We are all trying to feel something and do something tangible.
- A flower is a flower, even if its on a cucumber plant that might not ever fruit.
- When you start a garden, all kinds of wildlife and insects benefit. And you see bugs you’ve never seen before in your backyard.
- And along the same vein, bumblebees are precious and so good at their job.
- We’re all just practicing the art of letting go, over and over.
— S.A.
P.S. Are you local to the Bay Area? A friend told me about Fresh Approach, an amazing East Palo Alto-based org “building resilient food and farming systems through food access, nutrition education, urban agriculture, and community engagement.” Check them out!
P.P.S. The amazing writer Alicia Kennedy has a beautiful editorial and community project called Tomato Tomato, “interested in work that touches on language, hospitality, and the places where food meets culture.” Check it out!! You can find her newsletter here.
💫 Catch Up:
05.18.26 | Your teenage journals are calling you
steeped by samia no.46: …And you might not know what they’re trying to tell you.
💌 About This Blog:
Steeped by Samia is a space where I can simmer on thoughts & curiosities about life, liminal spaces, digital culture, & more. Far too often, my writing ideas fizzle out in energy; I never get to see them to their full potential. While building my rhythm with writing, I want to share these stories with you.
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