The Autobiography of Jane Lane - With Fiber!

There is an incredible demand for my biography. I'm getting all kinds of hits. They all come from the same place, but every hit counts, as Daria says, so I take this as encouragement to keep writing.

Did you know that the Lane family once had a garden? No, seriously. When I was four I remember us having a garden in the back yard.

Summer told me that the goal was to plant cabbages, beets, and strawberries. It sounds like a failed dessert, but Dad decided that we had better have a garden just in case of imminent Lane poverty. I guess he wasn't selling any photographs then. He planned that garden like...well, he probably put more work into that than anything. I saw him using string to line the rows just right and I remember Dad and Penny working out in the garden. She liked the garden too.

We didn't have much of a yield the first year, but we had something. We had fresh strawberries, cream, and sugar.

The next year when I was five we had a drought. It killed everything in the garden. I rememeber flocks of butterflies flittering around the garden and Dad trying to chase them away. I got mad at him and began to chase Dad.

It seems that butterflies eat strawberries. Or something. I'm not sure how the process goes. I'd think it would take about five pounds of butterflies to eat a strawberry, but I don't know, maybe butterflies were more of a deadly menace ten years ago. It's like a M. Night Shalayman film. No one talks about The Day The Butterflies Came and Carried Off The Children. All I can remember is kicking Dad in the shins because of the butterflies.

With the drought, Dad lost interest. The squared off area became a source for weeds. Then three years later Mom resodded the back yard and removed all traces of Dad's garden. I don't think Dad noticed it was gone. He had moved on.

I asked Trent about the garden. He just said, "I hate beets." He ran his hands through his hair, and then started plucking a tune about beets...awful beets.

I guess I know who ate the beets. Looks like Dad's garden is still fertile. I expect strawberries, por favor!