My vegetable garden is this amazing space of green-ness.  It is dense, tall, and wild.  I plant and tend, but I mostly let be.  I am amazed every year by how a wee plant, a tiny seed, or a bristle of sticks become the wild, entangled thicket that is my garden.  My dear husband says that it is a good thing that we don’t have to survive on what I grow, seeing as we can’t get into the garden to pick it.  I leave the black swallowtail caterpillars eating my dill and parsley and in turn they are eaten by the various birds and wasps that occupy my yard.  Chipmunks steal my strawberries and raspberries, and keep my dog entertained (so she doesn’t chew on my raspberry canes).  I sometimes think of my garden as a microcosm of larger natural spaces, including the struggle I inadvertently create to harvest what I plant.