Tis the Season

 

Caption: "Pardon me sir. May I ask? Would you describe yourself to be a  NOXIOUS WEED?"

Tis ALWAYS a season for something, isn't it?  In THIS environment the second week in May is usually a safe time to start planting in your yard.

I ran into my neighbors this morning and our ubiquitous conversation ends with them saying, "well we're heading down to Tagawas (a nursery) to look at perennials."

So I guess my timing is right to bring back some reflections I had about gardening twenty three years ago. So here goes:

 

                   Compelling Growth Part 1

               By Paul Reinertson, circa 1984

 

Part 1

        “A watched pot never boils” is really a micro example of it’s symbolic statement. Boiling water is a minor event to wait upon in the daily scheme of delayed actions. Very few of us, I believe, have mastered the art of setting something in motion, to be able then to ignore it until its ready to be dealt with in it's next stage.

 

And there are alarms to tell us when the boiling temperature has been reached.

 

Yet I venture to say there aren't many of us who can resist taking a peek in the interim, just in case.

 

Our Middle Lane lives are full of the “Watched Pot” syndrome. There are the waiting moments to hear the creak of the bathroom door, signaling YOUR TURN, if you are quick enough. How about listening for the final gurgle of the coffee pot that will sate your caffeine addiction? There is the near unbearable anticipation of waiting for a meal that someone else is preparing. And I’m pretty confident we all have little personal “Watched Pot” contributions that go beyond those common to us all. And among our personal lists there must be ONE WATCHED POT that is paramount in it’s personal impact. Me? Oh, yeah! It’s the FAMILY garden.

 

I accept responsibility for preparation and care of the garden by choice. The magnetic pull of that little piece of property is irresistible.

 

My neurotic attachment to the garden begins in April. I’m a Zone ‘B’, which means I can plant most vegetables in May. Now my situation is a little more complicated because I’m on the cusp with Zone ‘A’ which does not allow planting until June. That forces some decision making that must take place in April.

 

I watch the ground carefully. I look for chunks of ice. Think I’m neurotic? I know people who say they put their personal thermometers in the ground to get a reading.  Who knows where that thing has been? I can’t do it, won’t do it.

 

My stepson Mike, who somehow picks up some Einstein genes, demands we use his chemical kit to test the soil in April. Still, no matter how much mulch, manure or chemical we dump on the dirt? We can’t seem to get it to come out the right color. To my way of thinking the testing just adds to the stress.

 

I’ve asked Mike not to share the results with me anymore.

 

So I break ground, fertilize and furrow. Then it’s the end of April, and even though I’m on the cusp? I always go ahead and plant in May. I meticulously read the back of each seed pack, checking to see just how long before each species is supposed to take before it pops out of the ground. I know that almost everything I plant is SUPPOSED to sprout within seven to ten days.

 

Each year I promise myself, “I WILL remember which seeds I’ve planted in which rows, AND the visual characteristic each plant displays in its formative stage.  That pretty much sets the “Watched Pot” syndrome into motion.

 

For the first four or five days I pour water on my plot, constantly worrying that I’m giving it too much or too little. I sneak furtive glances at the garden JUST TO MAKE SURE an elephant hasn’t gotten loose from the zoo and trampled my veggies. Or that a stray hand grenade wasn’t tossed over the fence. It hasn’t happened yet, but you can’t be too careful.

 

On or about day five  I begin looking for cracks in the earth where sprouts will soon be appearing and reaching for the sun. That's really a little early for signs of growth, but if it ever does happen? I want to be there.

 

I discovered early on you always want to reserve a few rows for radishes, whether you like them or not. Why? Well first off they always come up. (I think they'd grow in a rock pile.) And they always come up on time. There is no guessing what they are. They quickly form this Lilliputian forest. The reason you grow radishes is they are great confidence builders.

 

Radish confidence lasts about two days. On day seven I get down on my hands and knees looking for signs of anything but a radish. I've been known to dance with exhultation over what turns out to be a weed.

 

If on day eight I see nothing but radishes and a rare weed, I deepen my crouch. My face is just inches from the dirt. Caught in this posture once, I offered I was in search of a rare coin...worth  hundreds....maybe thousands?

 

On day TEN I succumb to my compulsion. I am now lying flat on stomach, nose fully embedded in the furrow. Should I ever be caught in this posture? I've decided I'll go for the bizarre.

 

"I've just decided to start eating worms. Seen any?"

 

It's not likely to make me any friends, but sure to keep my enemies at bay.

 

What ever the outcome, from day ten I return to the posture of Homo Erectus and just start watching....and watching....and watching. Ah, let nature take its course. And nature tells me we'll finish this story tommorrow. Come on now, I'm sure you're going to want to know how THIS one turns out.

[Find out why shortly after this was written I retired from family vegetable gardening.]