from desert dreams to backyard harvests: a journey home

Sometimes, when I’m tending my tomatoes in the gentle North American summer, I remember those endless days in Afghanistan’s dusty heat, eating MREs and longing for something fresh and green. Back then, a garden felt like a distant dream—something my grandparents had, with rows of beans and corn, and laughter echoing at dusk. Now, my backyard is a patchwork of memories and new beginnings. I’ve swapped army rations for sun-warmed strawberries, but I notice my neighbors—especially the younger ones—prefer hydroponics and apps to track their plants. It’s a far cry from the way my parents taught me: hands in the soil, learning patience from the land itself. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re losing something precious in this rush for efficiency. My community’s HOA debates over what’s ‘acceptable’ in front yards—neat lawns or wild pollinator gardens. Some say my veggie patch is an eyesore; others stop by for a handful of basil. With drought warnings and unpredictable weather, I’ve had to adapt—choosing drought-tolerant varieties, mulching deep, and sometimes mourning lost crops. But every harvest, no matter how small, feels like a victory. Do you remember the taste of a sun-ripened tomato from your childhood? Or do you think the new ways are better? I’d love to hear your stories, your struggles, and your hopes for our gardens—and our communities. #gardeningmemories #backyarddebate #oldvsnew #Gardening