(Illustration by Emily Sabens/The Washington Post; iStock)
Venture into my backyard and you’ll see a kale patch, a riotous row of Cascadia snap peas and some straggly tomatoes that, except for one banner August, succumb each year to San Francisco’s foggy summers.
My vegetable patch is a produce factory. Every week, I can pick a hearty salad and as much oregano and thyme as I like. Except for the tomatoes, which I refuse to give up, these crops were selected by what my family would eat and what nature dictates will grow on my little spot on the planet.
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