Watching familiar foods grow is magical. They go from a seed to a sprout, stretch, and then burst into foliage, flowers, and eventually fruit.

It’s a process not often considered by those who have always had the luxury of other people growing their food.

I recall the first time I saw a yellow flower budding into a tiny green tomato. It was an awakening. Suddenly, I became interested in pollination and pollinators. And I encouraged things with wings to visit my potted veggies.

My thumb turned green and I wanted more to grow. More veggies, more herbs, maybe fruit. And the more things I grew, the more surprises.

Tomato surprised me first.

It grows voraciously, stretching upward and outward with eager limbs. And it doesn’t stop. Whatever grows near tomato must be a tough plant that can hold its ground.

Basil offered the next surprise. It regrew a second year without me replanting it.

Then a third year. By that fall, it had grown a mass of flowering limbs. Dainty white blossoms that turned an arresting violet as they matured. I spent countless moments awestruck by those flowers.

I smile each time I inspect my garden, eagerly awaiting basil’s return.

The phrase “grow like a weed” will always remind me of pumpkin.

I’d thrown a decorative fall pumpkin into the garden for lazy composting and was surprised with a burst of life that unapologetically took up space that spring. The big blooms were beautiful, long-lasting and attracted endless buzz.

One year, after prepping for Thanksgiving, I threw leftover collard stems with immature leaves into the garden. A few stems went in a vase to see if they would root. They rooted in the vase until the weather broke.

I planted them in the garden at the start of spring.

To my surprise, one of the stems I’d thrown out months earlier hadn’t decayed. I set it upright and gave it a chance to grow.

A week later, a frigid night killed the two plants I'd kept inside. The plant left outside, despite being shriveled, held strong. It recovered and grew through spring.

With the warmer weather, it flowered - tiny yellow blossoms growing on countless antennae-like stems. Collard grew tall. Taller than me, and then taller than the fence.

Over the years, plants have shared countless surprises and stories. So much I would have never imagined. Many things I never knew I never knew.

As I observe plants, I recognize life - growth and development, seeking resources, expressions of desire and dissatisfaction, reproduction and aging.

Growing my own food has changed my perspective on and relationship with food. As a result, I’ve grown a deeper appreciation for eating live foods.

These are foods that, once planted, have the potential to generate more life. They are fresh, nutrient-filled, and natural.

I’m tickled when I can pull together a meal made mostly from the garden. But most of what I eat is grown elsewhere.

Endless gratitude is owed to food growers around the world.

Have you considered the story of your store-bought veggies? The plant it came from, who planted it, who picked it.

Growing food has opened my eyes to this journey and how much must happen for a piece of food to be ready to consume.

I’m full of gratitude and respect.

Gardening has awakened curiosity, wonder and thirst for new information. It’s encouraged me to consider the story of everything and the beauty in anything. I’ve built connections and appreciation for the world around me.

And somehow I know I've only scratched the surface.