Thursday, March 28, 2013
Yesterday evening while I was out walking, Doc I got to noticing something, the clouds. They reminded me of late October, just as the first chill was hitting the air.
Here it is a couple days before Good Friday, and itís looking like the first days of winter. Usually by this time I have broke out my shorts and Rainbows, but to be honest, even I really donít feel like tempting fate when itís cold, no matter what the calendar may say.
Mel was mentioning to me the other day itís time to start filling the flower pots again, but my hearts just not been in it, seems like they would be dead before they even had a chance to bloom. Not that I really love flowers all that much, to be honest I hate them.
Well maybe not hate them, maybe a better word would be despise them. And thatís odd too, because if I really think bout it, I do have sort of a green thumb. If I plant something, nine times out of 10, it comes up.
I guess it goes back to my granddaddyís rose bushes. Even though itís been years, I still havenít forgiven them. One spring, we had just moved back down here, Momma had me pull the grass away from his rose bushes, and I donít know how many times I got stuck by the thorns off those bushes.
And even to this day when I pass a rose bush, I have an almost uncontrollable desire to get me a set of hedge clippers andÖbut after a few minutes the urge passes.
Like I mentioned earlier, Good Fridayís coming, actually itís today, if your reading this on Friday. This was the day that most folks use to hold off to plant on.
Oh they would have the ground ready, but a seed wouldnít hit the ground till that morning. I never did really hear a reason why, itís just what they did.
But as I have thought about it through the years, itís probably had to do with Easter, with Christís resurrection, and our belief in the rebirth of the soul. And I guess thatís what spring is every year.
Weíve made it out of the dead of winter, now everything coming alive, and turning green again. Good Friday, well I guess it does seems like a good starting point to me after all.
Momma used to love her garden. I think Daddy really didnít care one way or the other, but if it made her happy, he went along with it.
Every year she would have him out there with her, hoeing and planting, fertilizing and dusting. She had the whole nine yards planted out there: Corn, butter beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, a little bit of everything.
And as long as she would let him have a little patch for some peppers, he was a happy man. He liked those little hot ones, the kind that would make your head sweat.
He would always try to get me to eat one, but I never did. But just before he would bite into one he would always say, ďThis ones going to hurt somebody,Ē then he would bite into it, and I would watch his face turn red. Even all these years later when I see one, I still think of that.
Then I guess it was my turn. When me and Mel got married, she had to have a garden. And like Daddy, what ever made her happy, thatís what I would do.
I never was home much, but I would do the best I could with it, and we always seemed to have plenty to pick every evening, especially tomatoes.
I had so many I was giving them away, till nobody would take anymore. But no matter how hard I tried the grass would always take it before the year was out.
So one year I came up with a plan. I went out to the garden patch and measured off my rows, and figured in a little more space, just wide enough I could run the lawn mower down them.
Well, just when I got back from town buying seed, someone had went down all my rows, and had hoed up more rows, right where the lawn mower was supposed to go.
Then my loving wife let me know I had left too much space between the rows, but she had fixed it for me. I think that was the last garden I ever planted.
And so here it is Good Friday, and I guess itís time to fix the flower pots. But this year Iím thinking about planting a rose bush in one of them.
And when it starts coming up, Iím thinking about laying a set of hedge clippers right there beside it. Because after 40 some years...
I think itís about time I got me a little payback.
You can reach Robbin Bruce by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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