Figure It Out The Hard Way

Growing up on a farm and having six brothers meant I never had to venture into the fields.  My farm work was cooking and cleaning, although once I remember having to help put up hay.  That morning I watched Dad and my brothers walk out the door in jeans and long sleeves and with the temperature hovering around 95, I thought I was the smart one to show up in shorts and a  tank top.  I got sunburned, scratched off an entire layer of skin from the rough bales of hay and sunburned the next layer.

Farmer’s aren’t much for warning you about hazards.  They are of the “Make the mistake yourself and you’ll never do it again,” mindset.  It worked because I never made the mistake of helping put up hay again.

Mom put in an enormous vegetable garden every year and every year, when the weather got too hot and humid, she abandoned it.  I know that Dad loved Mom because every spring he spread manure and ran the rototiller all over the garden — the garden of Mom’s hopeful dreams and the same exact garden that would be abandoned before harvest time.

I abandoned gardening all together a few years ago.  I’d look out the window at the once symmetrically-square boxwoods that were now lopsided and frost burned, and rather than pull on my gloves and grab my garden tools, I laid down on the couch and napped.  With no frame to prop them up, bright pink peony heads lay in the dirt and cried for help.  I crawled in bed and slept.  The robust viburnum claimed the front sidewalk and I fell asleep in a chair.

We moved to a new house three years ago and I swore off all gardening.  But this house, or I should say this yard, is not going to let me off that easily.  For the first two years the landscape company refused to mow a weedy patch in the far sunny corner of the yard.  This year the new puppy thought this weedy patch was nirvana, so I wandered out to see what was so special.  Turns out, in between the grass and weeds, there was a nice patch of asparagus, which appears to be Orlee’s favorite snack.  Hmmm, which may explain her knocking me into next week when she saw me messing with it.


Then I noticed that a tiny tree had some sort of knobby disease on it, but turns out, it’s an apple tree.


There’s some lesson here that the Universe is trying to teach me, but I haven’t figured it out.  Maybe it’s like the Farmer’s trick of letting me make the mistake and learn the hard way, or maybe I should just go take a nap.

8 thoughts on “Figure It Out The Hard Way

  1. petspeopleandlife

    A little gardening never hurt anybody. 🙂 Work in the early am or late afternoon when it is not hot or not. 🙂

    I wish that I had the strength to do as I once did but alas afib meds leave me very fatigued. I have enjoyed making pretty arrangements of annuals and some perennial in large ceramic pots. This I can do since I can work in the shade. I love plants and they are my weakness. Love growing things.

  2. Theresa Hupp

    I swear we must be kindred spirits as well as namesakes.
    1. The house where I grew up had asparagus growing in the vacant field next door, left over from the abandoned farm that was there before the subdivision.
    2. I, too, hate gardening. It was my least favorite chore growing up. I would even practice the piano to get out of weeding.
    3. I kill plants. I am so obtuse about plants that when someone gave me one, I watered it twice before I realized it was artificial.
    But then, I didn’t grow up on a farm.
    I’m glad you’re writing your blog again — always fun to read.

    1. CrazieTown Post author

      Dear, Theresa. I’m not sure how it happened but Husband is in charge of all inside plants. He also watered an artificial plant for about a month before I pointed it out. Thanks for the blog writing encouragement!


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