I am in no way a gardner, but there are times when I wish I were. It is a crime not to eat ripe tomatoes in the summer, and store-bought tomatoes seem to have a tepid, seasonless existence.

Especially since I've moved to a farm, I'm ashamed for not making even the motions of digging around in the dirt. My neighbor, Olga, already has planted a few fields of wheat, and has the potatoes, favas, lettuce, and onions sprouting up in her house garden -- not to mention the livestock that she keeps up with. It's not a nice feeling sitting around, complaining about being a mother of one and how hard it is to plant a petunia, when Olga still does laundry at the spring on a stone, rolls out her own pasta, and tends to 130 sheep before I even get up in the morning. The advantage of having neighbors like that is at least I finally have connections.

In my family, I remember my stepfather sweating and swearing away at the earth and rocks and old roots. More than anything else, I remember feeling horribly guilty eating anything he grew, because I had not done so much as squash an avid to help him. I'm not sure if he had hoped that my sisters and I would be inspired and take over the farming responsibilities of our 81-foot by 81-foot backyard plot, but the whole thing seemed way too masochistic for me.

In my adult life, my excuse has always been that I could not be bothered buying dirt, which involved paying good money for a bag of dirt from some overpriced gardening supply store in Chelsea, and then lugging it all the way home on the subway to Queens, where I didn't even have a shovel. On a farm, there is dirt everywhere. It is the opposite of living in New York. I am overwhelmed by the gardening possibilities, and due to Olga, guilt is making its way back into my bones, for the opposite effect.

On Wednesdays, at the open market in Umbertide, I found myself loitering by the potted plants, weighing up the responsibility, and I think I may have finally come around. For all of you in my timid gardner camp, I have interviewed the authorities here in Corgna (Olga) and Mercatale di Cortona (the staff at Dolce Forno) to get the lowdown on the easiest plants to tend. Fortunately, the first ones mentioned were herbs, and anything food related is a plus for me.

Basil needs to be replanted seasonally, but it is still a good one to buy, as you can use it in anything from sauces to salads. Be sure to have about six to eight inches between each plant, because they will spread like wildfire, if you remember to water them. Do not overwater the plants, but you don't want to let the earth get parched, either. If there's not a whole lot of rain, just soak the soil until it's moist, and be sure to do it when the sun is low -- either in the early morning, or the late afternoon. If you water in the heat of the day, the roots can burn.

Basil plants will fill out if you pluck the very top leaves on each stalk, and when you have too much of it, use it in your flower arrangements, or make pesto. Fill your ice cube trays with it. Pop out the pesto cubes when they are frozen, and keep them in zip-sealed plastic bags.

Basil really needs a lot of sun, but thyme, lemon thyme (a beautiful, fat green leaf with a lemony fragrance), sage, rosemary, parsley, mint, chive, and lavender will do well in direct sun or partial shade, and will come back year after year. If they don't come back, you can either stop there, and feel good that at least you gave it a go, or you could start from the beginning again, as herb plants are cheap enough.

Really frugal types, however, can start the plants from seed, pushing the individual seeds into egg cartons filled with soil. I don't recommend this, though, unless there are kids in the house. Kids love seeds, dirt and signage, and have perfect-sized fingers to manage it all. I bought the healthiest, hardiest plants I could find, ready to put in pots or in the garden. After a lot of careful consideration, I decided the closer they were to my kitchen faucet, the better the chance they'd survive. I chose terra cotta bowl-shaped pots, to leave about six inches around each plant. Just as spring has sprung is the time to get them in.

If you do find lavender, it is beautiful dried, and can be used to fill small cotton sacks tied with a ribbon. Even better, cut pears in half, sprinkle them with butter, sugar, and a little honey, and bake flat side down at 350 degrees, until tender, with a little branch of lavender, under each half.

In addition to herbs, low-maintenance easy riders to get into the ground are lettuce and onions, but I'm going to wait. You are not going to hear me saying things like, "Oh no, I can't come out for coffee -- I have to stay home and watch the lettuce."

One of my connections, Monica, has a grandfather who is a master gardner, and lives below the hills of Cortona. At 90, he still oversees the best tomatoes, zucchini, onions, apples, pears, and lemons that I have ever tasted. They are so full of flavor that they are the definition of themselves. When I mentioned to Monica's grandmother that it must be great to be married to such an amazing horticultural talent, she said, "To be the wife of a gardner, you may as well be married to a dead man." The grass is always greener on the other side.