Confession of an Ex-Vegetable Gardener

Here is another story from my farm wife friend Gail.  Vegetable garden or flower bed?  I think many of us have a preference.    Some growers really have an eye for color while others have a taste for fresh produce.  I enjoy both, but am better with a vegetable garden.  Here is Gail’s story…….

 

Okay vegetable gardeners, I must confess. In all honesty I am not a vegetable gardener. In fact I am pretty much horrible at it.  What I have learned over the years is procrastination does not make for a great yield. My weeds were often shoulder-high, the rabbits grazed unafraid, the raccoons made a well-worn path through the sweet corn and a cow could almost hide in the high weeds that guarded the spindly tomatoes. So I am sure you get the picture.  I finally said enough and mowed the garden off.

That worked just fine because lots of family still loved to garden and sharing their garden’s bounty.  My yard? Well it was pretty boring. No color unless you consider the blooming thistles on the pasture side of the fence. Deep inside I felt this stirring of maybe; just maybe I could try my hand at flowers. Dare I try after all my disastrous attempt at vegetable gardening? A long time ago I vaguely remember my grandma saying, “If it can grow weeds, it can grow flowers.” If that is true, my weeds would qualify for the UW College of Agriculture research test plot.

I wish I had paid more attention to my grandma. Her gardens always flourished the entire growing season because of her technique she referred to as ‘Set a spell gardening.’

She would pull her old garden chair to one of her flower beds around her tiny Quonset house. She would just sit there looking at the space. Just sit there, yet making a mental list what would go where. At that time I was more interested in playing with my cousins than really taking time to learn from her. But as we played, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the corner of her apron and studied the flower bed before her. She understood each one and how to plant in shallow soil, rich soil, shade or sun. Her gardens always produced the prettiest colors because she always planted what the soil would allow to produce.  Rarely was a flower misplaced. She filled her beds often with flower cuttings from the previous year or tiny seeds ordered from one of her many seed catalogs.

So later, I thought flower gardening couldn’t be any worse than the vegetable fiasco.  I dug a small three-foot bed beside the front door and planted some yellow Prim Rose a friend was thinning out. They grew; they bloomed and for the first time were not choked out by weeds. My flower fever started to grow as perennials started to cover and fill many spots the mower had a hard time getting access too. The more I applied Grandma’s wisdom, the more the flowers grew. Now my largest flower bed be is over 95 feet long with 20 different varieties of flower. The gardens start blooming in spring and go to the last frost.

As I weeded and nurtured, I thought how things get planted in other places besides the flower bed.   Grandma had deep faith and knew what God could do with a heart turned over to Him.  She knew what once bore evil or hate could really become a place of beauty for love or forgiveness.  When I look deep into my heart, I am pulling out the junk and replacing it instead with something good. Just like Grandma, expecting a harvest 30, 60, or 100 times more than I planted. Oh, yes for the record I do have four tomato plants, dill and chives growing so nicely next the peonies, sedum and lilies. So what do you think: are they weeds or flowers?

Dungaree Blue

Written by my farm wife friend Gail

“Wash my barn clothes would you please hon?  I will need clean clothes for tomorrow.”

Before I even pick them up, I notice a certain ‘perfume.’  Oh yes, today’s farm to do list has checked off: clean the hog house. From the smell and weight of the dungarees, I know everything has been cleaned. The boys and their dad will have lots of stories to tell about the little piglets antics of chasing each other through the clean straw.

Dirty smelly jeans and dungarees may be offensive to some, but for me they are little reminder to say thank you to the Lord for my farmer’s caring hands and heart.  There are always surprises when I reach into those front pockets.  Many times I could tell just how his day went. A thick heavy washer, a bent nail, a small broken bolt or a veterinary needle tell a bit of the many miles he walks as he tends to so many demands in his day.

I can usually tell by ‘pocket treasure’ and amount of grease on the pant legs, either made his day or cost him precious down time. Sometimes his back pockets will be stuffed full of twine. The twine may still have tiny leaves and clover flowers clinging to it but serves as reminders to us of God’s blessings. Each piece of twine show the fruits of his summer labors from the hay it encircled and now that same hay is in the feed bunk for hungry cattle.  The cattle soon will be ready for market thanks to my farmer’s watchful eye.

The pockets and dungarees tell a story everyday and everyday another chapter is added to our farm family’s journey. Our journey is not easy and we are constantly reminded of what is required of us to have dominion over the land.

One night I asked him how he keeps everything he deals with straight in his mind. He said, “I don’t know, I just do” and he rolled over and started to snore. Later I found a verse in Isaiah 28:23-26 that helped me understand.

‘Listen and hear my voice; pay attention and hear what I say. When a farmer plows for planting, does he plow continually? Does he keep on breaking up and harrowing the soil? When he has leveled the surface does he not sow caraway and scatter cumin? Does he not plant wheat in its place? Barley in its plot? Spelt in its field? His God instructs him and teaches him the right way.’

Ah yes, I should have known.