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Planting in “The Cage”: Taking Back Control of Our Food


Planting in “The Cage”: Taking Back Control of Our Food

Food prices are not just rising — they are surging, and entire supply chains are breaking down. The war in the Middle East has rippled all the way to grocery bills, fertilizer supplies, energy markets, and the basic mechanics of how food gets grown and moved across the world. That is why I plant in “the cage”, the chain-link fenced area behind my garage. This is not decoration. This is survival. This is independence. This is a statement: anyone, regardless of age, ability, income, or living situation, can grow their own food.

All it takes is a few pots, a small patch of dirt, cheap seeds, or scraps from your own kitchen. You do not need a big yard, perfect soil, or expensive tools. You just need gumption and a willingness to act now — because waiting for someone else to fix the food system is not an option.

My First Garden and What It Taught Me

My first real gardening experience was back in 2012 and 2013, in what is now a Zone 9 area. I had four 4-foot-by-4-foot raised beds and about a 5‑foot‑square patch around a tree converted into an herb garden. It was small, but I made it work. I grew okra, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, lettuce, spinach, basil, oregano, thyme, parsley, cilantro, and mint. That garden taught me something powerful: even tiny spaces can yield real food. That lesson planted a seed that has never stopped growing.


What Is Growing in “The Cage”

This is my second year planting in “the cage.” The main crops are already in the ground: pinto beans, Roma tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, slicer tomatoes, oregano, cantaloupe, jalapeños, serrano peppers, tomatillos, cucumbers, carrots, beets, radishes, Chinese radishes, okra, watermelon, Swiss chard, pumpkin, dill, cabbage, spinach, mustard greens, turnip greens, lettuce (romaine), and onions.


I’ve planted strawberries salvaged from the refrigerator and onion root ends from kitchen scraps. Mango and papaya seeds are tucked into the soil just to see what comes up. Last year, the papaya seeds produced four‑foot‑tall seedlings that thrived into late season. I also sowed leftover pepper seeds from making roja sauce — I don’t recall all the varieties, but I hope they sprout and surprise me.


Inside “the cage”, I’ve planted pollinator‑friendly flowers and culinary herbs: lavender, rosemary, basil, cilantro, culinary sage, and a native Texas sage bush. I also added ground‑cover plants and wildflowers, hoping they work together to preserve soil moisture during long droughts and the blistering Texas summers here in Hill Country’s Zone 8.

All food scraps go straight into the soil, and I’ll be adding earthworms purchased from Walmart to help turn organic matter into rich, healthy soil.

Long‑Standing Raised Beds and Container Gardens

My raised beds just off the house have been growing longer than “the cage.” I’ve tended them in this location since 2019. Lettuce and other greens are already emerging. I will plant more lettuce, spinach, and herbs to increase productivity and resilience and keep fresh greens right outside the kitchen.

Nearby, a young olive tree and a rosemary bush thrive in pots, their fragrance and greenery reminding me that container gardening counts as gardening. Potatoes will grow in laundry baskets filled with soil and straw inside “the cage,” once I get the baskets and straw assembled.

Growing Food Is for Everyone

I have seen firsthand that growing your own food is not a skill limited by age or mobility. At an assisted living facility where I once worked, a resident who had been a farmer insisted on having raised beds installed before he would move in. Using a wheelchair or mobility scooter, he tended those beds religiously. Much of the produce served in the facility’s cafeteria came straight from his garden. After he passed, his family asked us to continue harvesting and sharing the produce in his memory. His determination showed that gardening is not limited by ability — only by willingness.

Family Legacy and Old‑School Grit

Growing food runs in my family. My grandfather served in the Marine Corps during World War II. In the 1930s, his father lost the farm that had been in their family for three generations. After my grandfather returned from service and married my grandmother, they bought a small house. One of the first things he did was plant a Victory Garden in the backyard, he tended it from the 1940s into the 1990s. When full gardens became too hard to maintain, he still planted vegetables and herbs in my grandmother’s flower beds off the patio. That garden thrived until around 2014, when he was in his nineties. His lifelong dedication to feeding his family and nurturing the soil is the seed that grew my own determination.

Why Growing Your Own Food Matters Now

Growing your own food is not a hobby. It is independence. It is security. It is survival.

The war in the Middle East is sending shockwaves through global food systems. Disruptions to energy, fertilizer, and shipping have already driven up input costs for farmers worldwide and raised the risk of higher food prices and scarcity for ordinary households. Supply chain bottlenecks and blocked shipping lanes are tightening fertilizer availability, raising production costs, and threatening global food security. These shocks happen before grocery prices climb — but they inevitably push prices higher on everything from produce to bread.

This vulnerability is not new. During World War II, Americans planted Victory Gardens: backyards, vacant lots, and window boxes filled with tomatoes, beans, cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, peas, peppers, and potatoes. Most gardens were just a few hundred square feet, yet they fed families and communities throughout a global crisis. Their impact was real, tangible, and immediate.

Today, the same principle applies. Scraps become crops. Pots become plots. A small corner of land becomes sustenance. Anyone willing to dig in can do it.


The Legacy and Urgency of Victory Gardens


Victory Gardens are not just history; they are a blueprint for survival and resilience. During World War II, Americans planted small plots in backyards, vacant lots, and window boxes filled with tomatoes, beans, cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, peas, peppers, and potatoes. These gardens were often just a few hundred square feet, yet they fed families, supplemented strained supply chains, and became a symbol of self-reliance during global crisis. They were a lifeline when grocery stores could not keep up with demand, when rationing limited what people could buy, and when the very act of growing your own food became a patriotic duty.


The lessons of Victory Gardens are still urgently relevant. The United States has faced multiple food shortages throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, from disruptions during the World Wars to spikes in grocery prices during the COVID-19 pandemic. Supply chain breakdowns, inflation, extreme weather events, and international conflicts have repeatedly made Americans vulnerable to scarcity. These crises prove that depending solely on store-bought food is risky and that taking control, even in small ways, can make the difference between sufficiency and shortage.


Anyone, anywhere, can cultivate this resilience. Whether it is a patio, a balcony, a small backyard, or a few pots by the window, growing your own food builds independence, protects against rising costs, and gives real agency over what you eat. Victory Gardens were successful not because people had acres of land, but because they had determination, creativity, and the courage to act. The same spirit is alive today. Every seed planted, every scrap of soil turned, is an investment in survival, empowerment, and self-sufficiency.


Take Action

This is your invitation. Grow something. Start small. Experiment. Fail. Try again. Learn. Every seed planted is a step toward independence, resilience, and control over what you eat. In uncertain times, that is power. That is freedom. That is survival.



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This is the home base for my work as an investigative journalist, author, and poet. I report the stories that institutions ignore, distort, or try to bury. My focus is on systemic harm, social injustice, historical erasure, and the lived realities beneath official narratives. Everything I write is grounded in research, shaped by direct experience, and driven by an unflinching commitment to truth. Here you’ll find longform investigations, cultural critique, personal essays, and poetry that refuses to look away. These are not just stories. They are records. They are warnings. They are witness. This site isn’t curated for comfort. It’s built to document, disrupt, and testify.