Eliina and I recently spent an afternoon planting tomato seedlings and sipping cold beer in my backyard — sending me awash in memories of my grandparents’ garden, which is basically one giant salad. I remember pushing open the back screen door and running barefoot across the spongy cool grass to pick cherry tomatoes and eat them from my palm.
Maybe someday my whole front lawn will be a garden too. The “edible estates” idea, explained in the link, sounds much more appealing than the perfectly manicured lawns that I grew up with. My childhood lawns were sprayed regularly with chemicals, pruned by our development’s lawn care service, and have generally maintained the same I’m-not-a-tree-I’m-a-Lego effect for the past 20 years.