The Spite Garden

Weeks ago, on the precipice of national closures and panic buying paper-products, Brett came home from work concerned about job security and finances. My weddings were scooting farther and farther into the year and rumor was that his company was looking for people to kick to the curb. Despite Brett and his team of 3 being the only structures department that the company has in the entire US, which I thought seemed like a perfectly good reason not to worry about losing his job, Brett needed to "stay in his lane."
He voiced concerns, wondered about our collective savings and took no amusement from my genuine offer to sell it all and live in a van. He thinks I wouldn't actually like it. I think he's probably right but I still really want to try. Regardless, my perpetually sunny giant lost sight of his buoyant outlook.
I said all the things one should say when their spouse worries about made up things like careers and currency. In my efforts to polish the Big Guy's optimism I became miffed by the inadequacy of my argument. In a final stroke of genius I suggested we start a garden, "That's a few less things to buy at the grocery store!" I proclaimed.

If there is one thing Brett loves, it's projects. I knew that the suggestion of something involving manual labor that he could find ways to make even more painstaking would brighten his day in an instant. In addition to this, we have long talked of growing things when the time is right and we have the space, etc. I reveled in the wonder of my most perfect suggestion. I thought Brett was lucky to have married someone who knew just how to fix his blues.

Brett crapped all over my garden idea. The concept did not make him feel better and moreover, he doubted my ability to grow things. As a proud previous employee of a farm where I did not work the land, I took great offense. Many things flushed through my mind, the main one being shock that Brett would poo-poo an idea of mine at all because he's usually quite eager for me to do things. His suggestion that a garden would "not be what you think it is" really didn't make much sense to me but I could tell by the tone that I should be defensive about the relative ease making plants grow. I wondered if it was a subtle jab at my capabilities and then the tables turned and it was my optimism that needed polishing.
Unbeknownst to Brett, the moment he doubted me I knew I'd be starting a garden that very next day.  It was not about saving money at the grocery store. It was about proving him wrong. Admittedly, he apologized promptly after his tomato tantrum but it was too late. I had already taken offense on behalf of my own insecurities.

As soon as Brett left for work the next morning I went out and bought a handful of baby food plants, a touch of vegetable fertilizer, and later, online, some 15 gallon grow bags and some tubing for a drip-irrigation setup. I documented the moving of the plants from their tiny pots into some larger pots and posted my rant on Lux's Instagram where it was met with much understanding from married couples far and wide. People love the Spite Garden and frequently ask me for updates.
Since the initial planting day, I transplanted our veggies into the grow bags (bigger and deeper than the pots I had on hand during the rage planting) and successfully installed an irrigation system into each one. This bit was less out of spite and more out of my own curiosity.
So I sat back and waited for the Big guy to get home. And he did come home, all cheerful and giant-like and then I pointed out the window at our new garden. He looked silently for but a moment, a slight curl quivered on one side of his lips and then he smiled at me and carried on with his evening.
The quiver was my participation trophy. The real prize would come when Mother Nature was ready. That night, as I drifted off, Brett whispered his consent through the dark. He liked the Spite Garden.

Weeks have passed and the vengeance is burgeoning. My tomato plants feel prodigious and my squash blossoms are a prideful yellow. We haven't gotten any edible veggies yet mind you, but they're on the vine, doing their veggie thing. Brett delights in the garden and checks on it frequently with me. He loves it so much that he even got in on the action this week and planted some hot peppers. He's adorably excited about them.