The Problem Is.....

We don't know what is growing in Grandma's Garden.

Grandma had a plan for the raised beds.  It involved tacks and string and measurements using a yardstick.  It involved thoughtful consideration of the space, and the creation of lines of a certain depth, varying according to the seeds' requirements.

What happened was 40 or 50 kindergarten scholars, anxious to be given a seed to plant.  We did manage to cover one part of the lesson - the holes were to be as deep as their first pinkie knuckle.

Of course, that required that we define where the knuckle existed on their finger, determine that it didn't matter if it was the right or the left hand, and discuss the consequences of overcrowding if too many seeds went into one hole.

The seeds were very, very small, and so were the gardeners.  They couldn't wait.  They had to plant.  And they had to plant right away.  And there were so many of them and only one me.

It went marginally better as the older kids cycled through, but there was never any real sense of organization.  There was joy and excitement and delight and accomplishment and pride and dirty hands and knees, and that was more important to me at the time.

At the time.

Now, 2 months later, we have easily identifiable scallions to chew upon as we ponder the unfathomable.  The signs we created on the few rows I managed to label have been moved so many times that they are useless.  We all remember carrots and lettuce and lots and lots of beets, but there may be others.

The plant identification app on Grandma's phone wasn't much help.  We tasted them, Grandma assuring the kids that greens are super foods.  We didn't know what we were eating, so no one could claim not to like it.  Small bites, fresh from the garden, even if they were bitter and unusual, were tastes we had grown ourselves.  If only we knew what they were.

I've decided to crowd source the answer.  Do any of these look familiar to any of you?