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Rite of spring
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The rite of spring. My father has developed, one rock extraction and one hacked weed at a time, a very long and very skinny parcel of land along the railroad tracks behind my house. It’s March and he’s already gearing up to win the woodchuck war this year, as evidenced by the posts and chicken wire rolls I see floating past my kitchen window toward the back yard.
The other war he will have to contend with, not to put it too severely, is with his wife. My mother will point out to him regularly the crass mathematics of the venture — comparing receipts for posts, fencing, quick-dry cement, seeds, peat moss starter cups, 5-10-5 fertilizer, gloves (a couple pair per summer), and of course lots of water, with the estimated value of the harvest of tomatoes, cukes, beans, lettuce, broccoli, and eggplant.
She tells me every year she figures each tomato costs about $5. Not to mention that he gives most of them away to the neighbors — and, by late August, to anyone who won’t throw them back.
As my Dad will be ready for his furry Moby Dick, I will be ready for my Mom. This is because it just occurred to me that there is a different way to look at the garden than as financial asymmetry. I mean, my father doesn’t drink, smoke, or gamble. If he did, these pastimes would cost money. So perhaps we can all have some peace around here this summer by calling his operation a moderately expensive hobby. It’s all the way you look at things. “Seek peace and pursue it” (Proverbs 34:14).
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Off the hook
There are few things better, or more difficult to do, than an expensive veggie garden.
Makes one wonder how farmers can grow tomatoes for about a penny each, counting the governement subsidies, doesn’t it?
Rock Extraction
I live in New England, a land of stone walls as far as the eye can see. It always fascinates me to think of the labor involved in moving thousands of stones out of a field and onto a wall. I’m 6′4″ 260lbs and can’t even budge a single one, let alone arrange them in such beautiful patterns.
Over time new rocks appear in our yard, squeezed out of the ground by frost I presume. I watch them ascend in altitude year by year wondering how I would ever move them. Perhaps I’ll simply allow this garden of stones to blossom. Earth and water that produces both tomatoes and stones shall continue their work until our Lord’s return. Then he shall move them.
My father used to do this same stuff every year, and I miss that. It was a battle every year between my father and the bunny rabbits, and a battle between my father and his brother — they had different theories of tomato growing (both worked, so I never understood why they argued about it EVERY year). Andree evoked some happy memories with this one!
With the state of the world, cheap fresh veggies may go the way of the Dodo. Your mother may be very glad for that garden someday, although your Dad’s wallet may be happier if he could make his compost and stop buying fertilizer.
Speaking of tomato production, (and not to change the subject), did you read about the tomato farmer who is cutting back on production due to labor issues: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/03/24/AR2008032402092_pf.html
Gardening is a great rite of spring. Our cabbage plants (indoors) are already several inches high, and our tomatoes have just germinated. It is still too wet here to do too much outdoors, but the garlic is popping up.
Here in Boone, NC (Appalachians), we can’t plant until mother’s day. We sing with Bing Crosby, “I’m dreaming of a white Easter”.