The Fruits of Our Labor: More Than a Backyard Garden
- Melissa Mitchell
- Jun 10
- 4 min read
June 10, 2026
A few months back, you may recall me discussing converting my firepit into an herb garden.
As it turns out, that little project grew into something else.
One raised bed became two. Herbs were joined by strawberries, peppers, and salad greens. Another raised bed is already on the way, with Swiss chard, bok choy, and butter lettuce soon to join the line-up.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Some of my fondest childhood memories involve spending time in my grandmother's garden. Perhaps this was always waiting to happen.
When I planted my little backyard garden, I thought I knew what I was growing.
Strawberries.
Herbs.
Peppers.
A few salad greens.
What I didn't realize was that I was growing something else entirely.
Like many hobby gardeners, I began with optimism. The kind that convinces you this year's harvest will be abundant, organized, and somehow cost less than simply buying vegetables at the grocery store.
A few months later, reality has entered the chat.
There have been strawberries. Several, in fact. The problem is that harvest competition is fierce around here.
Between Claire Elizabeth and a particularly fat, fuzzy caterpillar, I have personally managed to claim exactly one.
It was delicious.
And if I were brave enough to calculate the actual cost of the raised beds, bags of soil, mulch, plants, garden tools, rain barrels, watering cans, and "quick trips" to the nursery, I suspect that single strawberry may have been worth somewhere around $1,354.
Give or take a few bags of potting soil.
With a boost from the recent rains, the peppers are beginning to arrive. The herbs are thriving. The salad greens have contributed to a few meals. My tomato plant, however, appears to have entered an entirely different phase of existence. Every bloom disappears before it has a chance to become a tomato. I have my suspicions.
More Than a Garden
After relocating one caterpillar over the fence and thinking I'd solved the problem, I spotted two leopard moths across the yard.
"Congratulations on your engagement. I wish you many happy months and approximately 437 offspring. Preferably somewhere else."
By any reasonable accounting standard, my little garden may never pay for itself.
Fortunately, gardening is never really just about what it produces.
When my granddaughter Claire Elizabeth comes to visit, she barely makes it through the door before announcing her plans for the morning.
"Side... leaf," she announces.
Translation: Outside. Leaves.
Her dinosaur in hand, she heads straight for the garden to gather fresh basil leaves for her prehistoric friend. Apparently, dinosaurs enjoy basil. At least this one does. After making sure he's well fed, she leaves him happily munching while she moves on to other adventures.
Watching her carefully select each leaf has become one of my favorite parts of the day. So has watching her search for that one hidden strawberry, pick it, and pop it into her mouth before I even have a chance to wash it.
That's when it occurred to me that the garden has been producing far more than simply food.
It's produced conversations.
It's produced curiosity.
It's produced opportunities to teach a little girl where food comes from and how things grow.
The Unexpected Harvest
There is joy in gathering greens for a fresh salad. The garden provides fresh herbs for cooking, the satisfaction of harvesting something with my own hands, and one more reason to spend a little time outdoors each day.
It has also created a new rhythm. Mornings often begin with a quick walk through the garden to see what changed overnight. There is something deeply rewarding about tending to living things. The garden slows me down just enough to notice those little changes that are so easy to miss.
The peppers, strawberries, and salad greens are wonderful, but they aren't really the reward.
The reward has been the process.
I find joy in watching the new seedlings emerge from the soil. In the anticipation of waiting for another pepper to ripen or spotting a strawberry hidden beneath the leaves. The real challenge is hiding it from the caterpillars long enough for Claire Elizabeth to find it first.
Like so many things in life, the value isn't always found in the final result.
Sometimes it's found in everything that happens along the way.
The truth is, this little garden may never save me money.
But it has given me fresh meals, peaceful mornings, a few lessons in patience, and countless memories with Claire Elizabeth and her basil-loving dinosaur.
That's a return on investment no spreadsheet will ever calculate correctly.
The Art of Island Life will return next week with more stories and coastal reflections.
Have a story to share or a cause close to your heart? I’d love to hear from you at contact@melissamitchellart.com
14646 Compass Street, Suite 10
The Island—Corpus Christi, Texas 78418
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