| 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.
