I wasn’t going to have a garden, you know.

A June baby exactly doesn’t lend itself well to lots of bending-over, extra work in hot weather. When garden vision fever started this spring, I was clearheaded enough to know that both in late-term pregnancy and early postnatal stages — the peak of garden season this year — my body and my energy bank probably wouldn’t need more to do.

I didn’t buy any seeds, I didn’t drool through many seed catalogs, I didn’t make expectations. I looked at last year’s jars still lining my shelves downstairs, and knew we would be okay even on salsa rations (Brian’s biggest concern).

But then … onions get planted early enough in the spring that my belly wasn’t terribly in the way yet. A thoughtful neighbor gave me a few sprouting purple potatoes, so of course I had to put them in the ground. A group of us friends got together, pooled resources and time, and started a multitude of seeds indoors; that didn’t really count as gardening, either, since I was just poking seeds in dirt while sitting comfortably. Obviously my portion of those eventually had to get stuck in the actual ground, but who would I be to turn down plants already growing and ready to go?

The exceptions went on and on. I need some nasturtiums for a catering event in July, I need just a few okra for my southern self, I need to get these old pumpkin seeds planted and rid of. The kids are obsessed with watermelons and cucumbers, and it was too fortuitous that we got some packets at a seed swap.

It sure sounds like I got myself a garden after all. Except…what’s actually out there is only a dismal whisper of what could have been. Folly after folly visited our garden plot, roller-coastering my low-turned-medium expectations up and down with each new twist of Plants in Peril.

I penned in those stupid lovely chickens, but the few that escaped wrought impressive havoc on my onion rows, leaving me only about a dozen out of over a hundred. Unexpected localized frost toasted my first round of transplanted starts; I was graciously given the unclaimed leftover plants, which a cottontail rabbit ungraciously munched on. The chicken coop is forever years old and the door blew open in one of our frequent gales, releasing the hens in a beeline for the irresistibly scratchable soil and straw. The kids stepped on a couple plants — starts are surviving so sporadically that they’re hard to spot — and I’m sure some perished thanks to my poor watering skills.

Is this garden saga a comedy, tragedy, or soap opera? Clearly it’s not a fairy tale … but maybe it has a happy ending after all. There are a few survivors here and there, and if they keep it up, perhaps we’ll get a couple fresh tomatoes and eggplants. At least three nasturtiums are alive, and they’ll be pretty plus piquant if they make it; the second round of okra might also survive to maturity, when hibiscus-esque blooms turn into tasty pods.

The arugula has grown the best of all, and although a swarm of bugs has made their home in the leaves, there is still more than enough for my occasional usage of it. Arugula has a very distinct and sharp flavor, which I find bracing and appealing in moderation but can be too strong for some people, especially when grown into a more mature stage of leaf. The kids happily grabbed leaves to munch on when they saw me pick some, but Kiah’s bewilderment at how immediately “picy” it was lets me know I shouldn’t be worried about them overharvesting it.

I suppose I win with the garden either way: either I don’t have one, like I planned, or I have a tiny bit of one, enough to keep us surprised and grateful for whatever we find out there.

Ooh-La-’Rugula Tomato Salad

The easiest way to use arugula is just in a “regular” salad, but for those unsure about the role arugula plays in their life (Brian), pretending it’s an herb is a great option. I find its pungency is best complemented by something creamy, and avocado is a lovely pair with both arugula and tomatoes. Vary the amount of arugula as per your taste preferences, and if you’re able, harvest some of its flowers to add flavor and beauty!

Prep tips: as with all things avocado, it’s best added just before eating, but the rest of the salad can be prepped a day ahead.

• 4 cups diced tomatoes
• a handful or two of thinly sliced arugula
• other chopped fresh herbs at your disposal: especially basil, parsley, cilantro
• a splash of rice vinegar
• a drizz of local honey if the tomatoes are not homegrown
• 1 avocado, diced

Toss the tomatoes with a good shower of salt in a colander; let drain for 10 minutes. Stir in the remaining ingredients, and serve at room temp or chilled.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and two small children. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.