Garden Confusions
I have a theory that my Mom was Mother Nature incarnate. Mom’s garden was legendary in our neighborhood. Everything bloomed whether she planted it or not. When I was young, I thought this was normal. As far as I could see, Mom just threw down a few seeds and plants in the spring, ordered everything to grow and that was that. I thought the grocery store produce department was only for people who lived in apartments.
When I grew up and finally had a place to grow my own garden, I fully expected to have a beautifully landscaped little Eden in no time. I happily went to Lowe’s and bought the prettiest flowers and all my favorite fruits and veggies just like Mom used to do. I put them in the ground and sat back to watch the miracle. Not much happened. Grumbling, I threw some extra water at them. Still nothing. Turns out that all the stuff I’d heard about in a distant kind of way, like digging, weeding, and pruning were all considered to be normal things to do! In the dirt no less! Gross! Wasn’t that where the worms lived? I mean, I was prepared to roll up my sleeves and make a rhubarb crisp when the time came, but I hadn’t signed on for the rest of the program. Still, I was Mom’s daughter. How hard could it be?
Very hard. It turns out that having had Mom for a mother is a real handicap when it comes to gardening. I think the plants get confused. All I can figure is that since Mom passed her genes on to me, I must have some of the same magical aura that she had, and the seeds and baby plants somehow sense that. They think the real mother nature must be waiting for them. They get all excited and grow as fast as they can, spreading their little leaves eagerly toward the sun. They are ready to meet their Earth Mother! But then, only I show up, and clearly something has gone terribly wrong in the universe. What is this, this thing that dares to be like their beloved mother but yet is NOT?? The disappointment is so devastating that most of them simply give up and die on the spot. A few determined plants linger grimly on, but they have no joy. They may offer up one sickly little bloom, or a sad looking bean or two, but then it’s just a few straggling leaves until cold weather finally arrives and kills them in an act of mercy.
For Mom, now watching from heaven, my attempts at gardening must be hard to witness. I can easily imagine her watching my clumsy gardening efforts, rolling her eyes and muttering, “Oh for goodness sake!”
“Yes?” responds God.
“Sorry, just a figure of speech.” says Mom.
She continues to check up on me, but when even the zucchini starts to die, I think she tries to help.
“She’s got a real mess down there,” she says to God.
“She must learn for herself,” God says kindly.
“She’s in her 50’s! When is this learning supposed to start?”
God glances down to see me accidentally step on the one healthy vine, while spilling too much fertilizer on a pathetic looking specimen of something, He winces and gives in.
“Well, just this once, and just one touch to give her some encouragement.”
“Oh, thank you! Can I pet the cats too while I’m down there?”
“And you may visit your sweet granddaughter and sit with her for a little time while she sleeps,” God continues.
“What? Oh yeah, thanks. But can I pet the cats?”
I’m sure something like this happened last year. It’s just me and Dave at home now, but I planted five tomato plants, thinking that with five plants, I might, with luck, eventually get one or two fresh tomatoes for a salad. Summer days passed and the garden was progressing in its normal depressed way, until Mom must have paid a visit and touched the tomatoes. Overnight they went from small and sickly to champions. They zoomed up to nearly six feet tall, branched out and competed to see which could rain down the most fruit.
We were completely unprepared for this. We ate tomatoes with everything, I gave so many away that my friends began to avoid me. I attempted canning (that’s another story). It was a real problem. I’m afraid quite a few were wasted, and I’m sure that several thunderstorms were the result of my mother’s and grandmother’s deep disapproval about that.
Meanwhile, my sister, who had clearly also received a visit, was fighting desperately to not be buried alive under a mountain of pumpkins.
So, what do I do this year? Should I leave things alone and count on Mom’s help? Do I plant extra in case I’m on my own? Do I just cover everything with gravel and call myself environmentally friendly? I suppose I could put a clunker car and a broken washing machine in the front yard and just let the weeds take over (I grow weeds really well).
I have no idea what I should do.
When I grew up and finally had a place to grow my own garden, I fully expected to have a beautifully landscaped little Eden in no time. I happily went to Lowe’s and bought the prettiest flowers and all my favorite fruits and veggies just like Mom used to do. I put them in the ground and sat back to watch the miracle. Not much happened. Grumbling, I threw some extra water at them. Still nothing. Turns out that all the stuff I’d heard about in a distant kind of way, like digging, weeding, and pruning were all considered to be normal things to do! In the dirt no less! Gross! Wasn’t that where the worms lived? I mean, I was prepared to roll up my sleeves and make a rhubarb crisp when the time came, but I hadn’t signed on for the rest of the program. Still, I was Mom’s daughter. How hard could it be?
Very hard. It turns out that having had Mom for a mother is a real handicap when it comes to gardening. I think the plants get confused. All I can figure is that since Mom passed her genes on to me, I must have some of the same magical aura that she had, and the seeds and baby plants somehow sense that. They think the real mother nature must be waiting for them. They get all excited and grow as fast as they can, spreading their little leaves eagerly toward the sun. They are ready to meet their Earth Mother! But then, only I show up, and clearly something has gone terribly wrong in the universe. What is this, this thing that dares to be like their beloved mother but yet is NOT?? The disappointment is so devastating that most of them simply give up and die on the spot. A few determined plants linger grimly on, but they have no joy. They may offer up one sickly little bloom, or a sad looking bean or two, but then it’s just a few straggling leaves until cold weather finally arrives and kills them in an act of mercy.
For Mom, now watching from heaven, my attempts at gardening must be hard to witness. I can easily imagine her watching my clumsy gardening efforts, rolling her eyes and muttering, “Oh for goodness sake!”
“Yes?” responds God.
“Sorry, just a figure of speech.” says Mom.
She continues to check up on me, but when even the zucchini starts to die, I think she tries to help.
“She’s got a real mess down there,” she says to God.
“She must learn for herself,” God says kindly.
“She’s in her 50’s! When is this learning supposed to start?”
God glances down to see me accidentally step on the one healthy vine, while spilling too much fertilizer on a pathetic looking specimen of something, He winces and gives in.
“Well, just this once, and just one touch to give her some encouragement.”
“Oh, thank you! Can I pet the cats too while I’m down there?”
“And you may visit your sweet granddaughter and sit with her for a little time while she sleeps,” God continues.
“What? Oh yeah, thanks. But can I pet the cats?”
I’m sure something like this happened last year. It’s just me and Dave at home now, but I planted five tomato plants, thinking that with five plants, I might, with luck, eventually get one or two fresh tomatoes for a salad. Summer days passed and the garden was progressing in its normal depressed way, until Mom must have paid a visit and touched the tomatoes. Overnight they went from small and sickly to champions. They zoomed up to nearly six feet tall, branched out and competed to see which could rain down the most fruit.
We were completely unprepared for this. We ate tomatoes with everything, I gave so many away that my friends began to avoid me. I attempted canning (that’s another story). It was a real problem. I’m afraid quite a few were wasted, and I’m sure that several thunderstorms were the result of my mother’s and grandmother’s deep disapproval about that.
Meanwhile, my sister, who had clearly also received a visit, was fighting desperately to not be buried alive under a mountain of pumpkins.
So, what do I do this year? Should I leave things alone and count on Mom’s help? Do I plant extra in case I’m on my own? Do I just cover everything with gravel and call myself environmentally friendly? I suppose I could put a clunker car and a broken washing machine in the front yard and just let the weeds take over (I grow weeds really well).
I have no idea what I should do.