Through the Looking Glass: 42. Gardening Adventures

Saturday, December 15, 2012

42. Gardening Adventures

When the rake has been retrieved from behind the snow-blower and the broken garden shovel, run over by persons unknown, has been discovered it becomes apparent that gardening season is about to begin. With the odour of thawing dog droppings retreating and the litter box that was once the 'garden' is raked clean of it's treasures, preparing the garden can begin in earnest.

A trip to the garden centre is not to be undertaken by those not physically or financially prepared. Carting out ten new lawn ornaments, twenty flats of plants, a thirty kilogram bag of 'weed n feed. as well as the shovel you originally went to buy is taxing to say the least. Steeling oneself for the hour long wait in the checkout line is a blessing in disguise however. It allows one to catch their breath and get emotionally prepared to pay the bill. No matter what the best estimate of cost works out to be , the final tally is always forty to fifty percent higher. This is where a second mortgage or an obscenely high personal line of credit may add to a gardener's emotional security.

When all of the goods have been unloaded and the chiropractor's appointment has been made the garden project can begin. As the newly sharpened spade cuts into the soil thoughts of 'getting back to the land' pervade one's thoughts. As the several times dulled spade lifts the four hundred and sixty third clod of soil, thoughts of 'getting a masseuse or scoring some Demerol' take over. It becomes abundantly clear why the pioneers life span was considerably shorter than our own.

With the grunt work out of the way and the chiropractor's bill paid in full, the planting can begin. For people living alone this stage the most rewarding and creative part of gardening, while for those with partners it rates at about the same level as putting up wallpaper or home renovation. For him the resistance to planting broccoli and Brussels Sprouts is almost as great as her reluctance to let him plant hops and barley. In the end the solution is often seen as two separate gardens rather than the single effort originally planned.

"Getting back to the land" does not allow one to put up one's feet after the crop has been put in. The crab grass that has been resting and the insects that have been quietly procreating discover the newly cultivated plot. Keeping the garden from being over run will require the acumen of a botanist, the observational skills of an entomologist and the abilities of a good chemist. If there are no complaints from Environment Canada about the chemical fogging and no charges laid by the SPCA concerning the numbers of wandering pets gassed, the garden may stand a chance. This would be the time to check whether or not Blue Cross covers chemical detoxification for you alone or if all family members are included.

Tremors and double vision will usually clear up by the time fall harvest rolls around. Although there is sadness about the mutation the hops vine has undergone there is also a secret glee that slugs managed to take out most of the Brussels Sprouts patch.

The potatoes are dug and put in the basement cold room to shrink and mold over the winter (the unusual shapes and occasional internal noises should not put one off)... The carrots are collected and put in a dark place (it is so handy that they glow in the dark ).... the peas are shelled amid comments about turning them into golf balls (veiled references to both their size and tenderness)... the lettuce will be left alone as the slugs feeding on it have begun to growl every time some comes near.

Gardening has been a success again this year in spite of the cost of pain killers and marriage counselling and in spite of disabilities due to chemical exposure. The glowing dirt under ones finger nails is a wonderful trade off when you begin to gnaw at the freshly picked tomatoes that you have grown for yourself. You can look forward to beginning again next spring before the prosac prescription runs out.

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Introduction

Having moved at least twenty-five times in fifteen years has opened a world of learning to me. In six decades, an education ranging from the coldness of large cities to the isolation of remote rural locations to the busybody gossip of small towns and the wonder of the prairie and it's ocean of grass have all left their impressions on me.

Recently I relocated to a small city in British Columbia. It touted itself as a historical, cultural, educational and, over-all wonderful, place to live. Once I was past the trees and the rocks, the heights and the hills, the water and the wind, I calmed down and was ready to look at the people I was sharing that space with.

Every location I have ever squatted has had it's share of characters. Players in the cities along with the wide range of tinfoil hat wearers and baggy pants skaters were a given. Pop up strangers at odd hours surprised me with their appearance in the middle of nowhere. Rumours of my serial killer past from neighbours I had never met never swayed me. The wonder of gazing on the effects of wind on the grass ocean interrupted by a landowner enquiring why I was leaning on his fence was oft forgiven.

In this new locale a variety of characters as I had experienced elsewhere was a given. The density and variety of them however gave me more surprise than I would have expected.

I had heard comments about this place being a time warp to the sixties. However I only saw few that , by their appearance, I could say lived through the sixties. What apparitions appeared were younger and more colourful than I remember from that vague decade.

Purple haired strong armed accordionists, heavy head shaved violinists clutching tiny instruments, winter coated scarf wrapped individuals in shorts and oddly calm people with large coffees wandered the streets.

They wandered in and out of new age crystal shops, expressed opinions on local radio, bought nothing but organic food. They played jazz on squeeze boxes, made strings and wood sing in ways not intended, talked to themselves as they tightened their scarves and became more serene with each sip of coffee.

Characters here are more concentrated than in any other locale I have ever lived. It is a point of interest as well as point of concern.

It remains to be seen whether I will be mugged with organic carrots, side swiped by hooligan mountain bikers, be harangued with advice on dressing warmly or kept awake nights by jazzy sounds from an errant squeeze box. Whatever the outcome I am certain I could find it in no other place on earth to explore these particular uncertainties.

Until I am transplanted again, I extend every new-ager and boarder, every subculture economist and spiritualist, every would-be and wanna-be my deep thanks for extending me the opportunity of educating myself one measure more.