Bonnie Boerema

© Copyright 2017 by Bonnie Boerema

Photo of a sick tomato plant.
In the spring of 2009, while we were living on my husband’s forty two acres in Missouri we decided that we were going to plant a garden. Neither one of us had lived in the country, or grown a garden. He built a nice fence around it, put posts in the ground, and
and built a fence around it.

My dad grew up on a farm. He had a green thumb, and he was really good at it. When I was a kid, in the spring and summer he’d grow a wonderful garden, green onions, radishes, iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes, and stalks of corn. He put a lot of work into his, and watered it daily.

I love flowers, and since my fifties every spring, I’d go to the outdoor garden tents and pick out flowers for my pots that went on my deck. My favorites were hibiscus, magnolias, Petunias and Geraniums. By Summer I could see the fruits of my labor. Between the sun and heat, they were growing into beautiful large blooms, overflowing the pots, and making our back deck very pretty.

But our vegetable garden was another matter. This was eight years ago, when I could still get on my knees to pull the weeds out. He helped me with this, and did most of the watering.

We planted carrots, radishes, green onions, leaf lettuce, and tomatoes. But as summer and hot weather came on, our garden wasn’t producing much. There were a few carrots on the leaves, and the green onions, radishes, and lettuce didn’t yield much either. There were just a couple of scrawny tomatoes. We both were disappointed, because we’d worked really hard on it.

Before the end of the summer, he tore the fence down, and demolished our effort for a garden, and turned it back into green grass he could mow.

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