The Good Earth

My father has many great talents, least of all his power of persuasion and his endowment for bullshit. My father could sell condoms to a monk and a ketchup popsicle to a woman in a white dress. However, perhaps his greatest gift is one that has been passed down through generations of Italians in my family. My father has a thumb so green he could grow a tomato in the Sahara. His garden should win awards for its natural beauty and miraculous, spontaneous generation. His garden is so prosperous that the plants themselves feel inspired to grow new and unusual fruits. "I know I'm a peach tree, but today, I'm feeling so good to be a resident in Mike's Garden of Eden that today I think I'll grow a plum."

And while my father has the lushest, most prosperous garden in three states, he would be surprised to find out that the fruit I have seen since I've come to China stands unrivaled by most of the Western world. The other day, I ate a peach so large, I could have used it to play a game of pick up softball. This peach was about a pound in weight and filled me up until lunch time. Not only was it the most massive piece of fruit to come from a tree, it was the sweetest and juiciest peach I have ever tasted.

This is because here in China, the peasant farmers work day and night wrapping little bags around each piece of fruit on the trees in their orchard to keep away bugs and birds. This allows the fruit to grow to mutant proportions.

After the peach, you would think I'd be ready to pass through the pearly gates as though nothing could top this spiritual act of consumption. But then I discovered nectarines with Chinese characters ingrained in the pigment of the fruit. What is with these magical Chinese people that they can convince their fruit to bear their language like tattoos? It is an ancient Chinese secret, I deduce, and without the audacity of too much inquiry, I bite into the nectarine that is telling me to have good fortune in my life. With fruit like this I feel I have already been blessed with the greatest fortune of the earth.

Then I think of my father and his amazing garden and I wonder, what is the true secret behind mortal men creating such miracles on earth? Did he perhaps go on a pilgramage to the Far East to learn the ways of fruit and vegetable witchery? Or is it just a simple and pure affirmation of love for the earth and all its riches, a daily appreciation for the beauty of the gifts of this life? My father grows a beautiful garden the way the Chinese do because they have something in common. They are thankful for the blessings of the earth and they tend to it and nurture it with the same love a parent gives to a child. There is nothing more beautiful than something born from the soil and nursed by the sun and the rain. The Chinese know this and so does my daddy.