By Angus McColl

I am one of those mothers. You know. I just look like the kind of mother who gardens with her children. I don't blow dry my hair and I've been wearing the same pair of jeans for about two years now. I feed my children my own milk well past the age that this culture feels is normal, and I order full cases of organic chopped tomatoes from a food co-op. Yet I am still waiting for gardening to happen to me.

I mean, I suppose I have to hold my hands up and say I may look the part, and act the part at times, but I'm not truly a card carrying member of the super earth mums club. I make cookies with white flour and sugar and I don't quickly grab the chocolate out of my children's hands when an innocent adult kindly offers it.

But I must say, I do consider myself a little more clued up that most. I don't necessarily think cheese is "healthy" (even though I do actually eat it), and the pasta has to be whole wheat. I make my own kid's yogurts with plain yogurt and fruit spread, and I detest artificial sweeteners. So yeah, I don't fit in to well to the mainstream, especially since I am big into feeding my children my own milk far past infancy. So why is it I can't bring myself to growing my own food? I'm terrible really! I probably spend far too much on organic vegetables from who knows where when I could so easily just provide for my family with my own two hands.

I have several friends who at least do something. They have a grow bag full of potatoes or a couple of cherry tomato plants. I have one friend who has just dug a space for her very own polytunnel. I admire her. I want to be her. But I just can't seem to step outside and make it happen.

The truth is, I should really start taking this whole gardening thing seriously. When disaster strikes, where in the world will I be? Most likely I'll be leaning heavily on said friend with the polytunnel and learning everything I can. I may think I'm a real health nut, but I'm not yet willing to get my hands dirty.

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