Gardening gets me in its grip around this time of year. To even make it to my car I have to walk through a gate and into the garden to reach our garage. Even the sound of the gate latching sets off pictures of all that has filled this sacred space for two growing seasons and what I’m envisioning for the coming summer: towering cosmos flowers, juicy peppers, plump eggplants, shiny red tomatoes, sneaky squash, flavorful lettuce, basil, chives, herbs, cucumbers. Ok, I’ll stop or it turns into a planning session as I try to decide how I’ll rotate plants and what would do best where.
Both sets of my grandparents cultivated the earth. Trailing my granddaddy in his garden outside of Ft. Worth, I remember how he would make holes with his cane, drop in a seed without so much as bending over, then cover it up with his foot. Even my parents turned a quarter of our west Texas backyard into a thriving garden. Before my mid-twenties, I was shoveling dirt for my first garden in Austin. And when Bill and I moved west of Austin to rural Spicewood, we soon had a flourishing garden beneath a busy Martin birdhouse.
Eyeing the Navajo Street home for purchase, we weren’t discouraged to see a backyard covered in rock. No problem, we thought; we’ll just scrape up the rocks and soon have a garden. But beneath the debris we found a solid, concrete drive, apparently the perfect place to overhaul old cars. Hire some muscle with a jack-hammer, and the soil will appear. It wasn’t as painless as it sounds, and more than one set of muscles was involved, but within two years a remarkable garden was growing and a freezer full to the brim as a result.
Both sets of my grandparents cultivated the earth. Trailing my granddaddy in his garden outside of Ft. Worth, I remember how he would make holes with his cane, drop in a seed without so much as bending over, then cover it up with his foot. Even my parents turned a quarter of our west Texas backyard into a thriving garden. Before my mid-twenties, I was shoveling dirt for my first garden in Austin. And when Bill and I moved west of Austin to rural Spicewood, we soon had a flourishing garden beneath a busy Martin birdhouse.
Eyeing the Navajo Street home for purchase, we weren’t discouraged to see a backyard covered in rock. No problem, we thought; we’ll just scrape up the rocks and soon have a garden. But beneath the debris we found a solid, concrete drive, apparently the perfect place to overhaul old cars. Hire some muscle with a jack-hammer, and the soil will appear. It wasn’t as painless as it sounds, and more than one set of muscles was involved, but within two years a remarkable garden was growing and a freezer full to the brim as a result.
After plenty of chitchats about manure, a good neighbor friend, Kathy, and I headed out to shovel llama poop a couple of weeks ago. An ad on Craig’s list prompted the outing: $5 for all you can shovel. We googled llama manure and discovered all its beauty: you can work it right into the soil or even put it on top of plants and it won’t burn up anything, it’s high in nitrogen but lower in organic matter than most other barnyard manures (when organic matter decomposes it produces the heat that can damage plants), and it can improve soil texture due to strong water-holding capacity. With visions of llama beans dancing in our heads, we threw our shovels in the back of a QKS van and headed south of Denver to Deer Creek Canyon.
We filled garbage bag after garbage bag, cheerfully heaving them up into the van after quickly learning not to fill the bags to capacity. Temperatures were cooler in the canyon, but quite predictably we were plenty warm in no time. Working with Kathy was a pleasure; stopping ever so often she had a way of remembering a story and threading along while muscles calmed down and were rejuvenated. Once the van was full, we decided to go thank a few of the peculiar looking animals who had delivered the product of our labor. Up close to a mama and baby llama, we were charmed to have a furry, smiley snout shoved into our hands. Those eyes alone were enough to justify considering a llama for a pet.
Back in our hood, we unloaded bag after bag, swept out the van, and called it a day. Or so I wish. Well, you know how the days are longer now, and my garden was right there and smack in the middle of it was a pile of manure better off in the soil than stinking up our walkway. I figured I’d just loosen up the soil a bit and maybe work in one bag. Ahhh, the soil was so soft, and taunting weeds deserved removal. Sure can’t fertilize those suckers or let them spread! One quadrant shoveled and manure spread, let’s see, think I’ll transplant these newly sprouting strawberries over there, but I need to pull the weeds in that area first and loosen that soil, and gee, I’ve had it with these dominating, spreading mint plants so let me pull up as many roots as I can (my god, where do these things stop??), and I might as well open another bag of llama beans to spread on this other quadrant, and are these more strawberries in the center flower patch? Well, don’t need ‘em here, especially if I’m going to (and I might as well) spread some manure on the flowers and looky here, the oregano is greening so let me trim it up so it can take off and oh, let me open one more bag of beans for this quadrant and why don’t I move some of these chives, which are about to bloom after all, to the front of the house because really three batches are enough back here and. . . ouch. . . oh, god, my back really hurts! What in the world was I thinking? Was I thinking?? How old do I think I am anyway??? What’s so wrong with the seven days for creation idea?
I limped into the house where Bill was ready with a pain-killing glass of wine. He had arrived home a bit earlier, shaking his head knowingly as he traipsed back and forth from car to house carrying in groceries. “Darlin’, you don’t have to do it all in one day, you know.” Too late. This is a familiar character trait that has gotten me in trouble plenty in my life. Apparently what I haven’t learned well is the “being fully in the moment” with the “slow way down and just take it easy” because “there’s plenty of time for everything under the sun.” There’s time for everything? Yes, just like the miracle of growth that seemingly happens in no time at all amidst a jungle of flowers and vegetables and fruits, the garden can be prepared and planted and nurtured in one long, slow, leisurely dance if I can just get a grip, before it gets a grip on me. No lingering, laid-back dances for me the last two weeks; every move of mine has come with a wince.
Back in our hood, we unloaded bag after bag, swept out the van, and called it a day. Or so I wish. Well, you know how the days are longer now, and my garden was right there and smack in the middle of it was a pile of manure better off in the soil than stinking up our walkway. I figured I’d just loosen up the soil a bit and maybe work in one bag. Ahhh, the soil was so soft, and taunting weeds deserved removal. Sure can’t fertilize those suckers or let them spread! One quadrant shoveled and manure spread, let’s see, think I’ll transplant these newly sprouting strawberries over there, but I need to pull the weeds in that area first and loosen that soil, and gee, I’ve had it with these dominating, spreading mint plants so let me pull up as many roots as I can (my god, where do these things stop??), and I might as well open another bag of llama beans to spread on this other quadrant, and are these more strawberries in the center flower patch? Well, don’t need ‘em here, especially if I’m going to (and I might as well) spread some manure on the flowers and looky here, the oregano is greening so let me trim it up so it can take off and oh, let me open one more bag of beans for this quadrant and why don’t I move some of these chives, which are about to bloom after all, to the front of the house because really three batches are enough back here and. . . ouch. . . oh, god, my back really hurts! What in the world was I thinking? Was I thinking?? How old do I think I am anyway??? What’s so wrong with the seven days for creation idea?
I limped into the house where Bill was ready with a pain-killing glass of wine. He had arrived home a bit earlier, shaking his head knowingly as he traipsed back and forth from car to house carrying in groceries. “Darlin’, you don’t have to do it all in one day, you know.” Too late. This is a familiar character trait that has gotten me in trouble plenty in my life. Apparently what I haven’t learned well is the “being fully in the moment” with the “slow way down and just take it easy” because “there’s plenty of time for everything under the sun.” There’s time for everything? Yes, just like the miracle of growth that seemingly happens in no time at all amidst a jungle of flowers and vegetables and fruits, the garden can be prepared and planted and nurtured in one long, slow, leisurely dance if I can just get a grip, before it gets a grip on me. No lingering, laid-back dances for me the last two weeks; every move of mine has come with a wince.
