One look and there’s no doubt, I’m a steak guy. I’ve earned my two-fifty plus. And hard times or not, I haven’t been tempted to grow my own.

The challenges of an ornamental garden are difficult enough for me without growing edibles. With my dogwoods, Japanese maples, hydrangeas, viburnums, mahonias, and perennials I can manage the creatures without spraying poisons to and fro, but I find it hard to imagine the same growing fruits and veggies.  

I’m in the garden center and landscaping business, so I’m all for the edible “craze”, but I’m just as certain that a few years from now wormy apples and rotten tomatoes will dissuade all but the most motivated to give in to their realistic side and abandon their sustainable dreams.

I grow blueberries and blackberries, and serviceberry, which I’m told is a fruiting edible, but haven’t harvested a berry in years. The birds are fat and happy (just like me) and the bugs aren’t a bother.

I’ve created a wildlife friendly garden and remain proudly lazy, letting the aphids and caterpillars have their nibble or two, but I understand my limitations, and there’s little doubt I’d resort to whatever evil means were necessary to keep the birds from the cherries and the beetles out of the cukes. I’d be no friend to the planet, and I’m betting there are a bunch of new edible gardeners who’ll discover the same.

I’m as happy to sell a tomato as an echinacea, and happier still if you’re willing to give both an effort, but I’ll remain satisfied to let the farmer raise my beef and veggies. The economists assure me that soon enough there’ll be enough coin in the cookie jar to afford them again.