BEING BUZZED

I’ve got a bit of a stubborn streak in me. 

Oh maybe ‘stubborn’ is a trifle harsh.  Let’s use the word ‘persistent’.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I can procrastinate with the best of them.  I even amaze myself at how many excuses I can come up with not to do an unpleasant task ... or even a task that is pleasant but I just don’t feel like doing.  Put these two personality traits together and you’ve got someone who can be downright determined to avoid work that they don’t want to ... yet.

My plight this week is that ‘yet’ had finally caught up with me.  My gardens are at the tipping point between ‘a terrible mess’ and ‘too far gone to even try’.  If I wanted to harvest anything – heck, if I want to be able to find anything to harvest – I have to tackle the weeds while I can still pull them out.  Another week and their roots will be wrapped around bedrock and the opportunity will be lost.

This gardening year has been quite the journey.  Right from the get-go things have not gone according to schedule.  It did not rain.  It did not rain before I planted.  It proceeded to not rain after I put seeds in the ground.  Nothing germinated.  Well, except for the stinkweed.  Apparently all stinkweed needs to germinate is the memory of moisture.  For the longest time it was the only green I had and it seemed a shame to pull it, but eventually I did.

And then I replanted the tiny seeds and counted the plants that did grow.  I had 7 peas, 12 beans, 5 beets, and 17 corn plants spread over four rows.  Every single potato I had placed in the earth came up; that’s nothing short of a miracle, even in a good year.  The only up-side to this pathetic scenario was that the weeds weren’t germinating either.  I dithered about what to do.  I could give it all a drink of well water but I was reminded that this might be making the choice of garden veggies this summer or being able to shower next winter – not something to be taken lightly.

The rains finally did come, and then Mother Nature turned up the heat.  Up came the first planting of vegetables ... and the second ... and the third!  But who could tell?  The ground was a solid carpet of pigweed and portulaca, lamb’s quarters and a million baby maple trees.  This work overload situation immediately triggered a procrastination period; why pull four inch weeds when you can put it off till they are ten inches tall?

As of this past week I have moved on.  The strawberries needed picking and since I was out there I kinda got into the groove of pulling out anything that didn’t belong with the berries.  It looked so much better from where I like to sit on my deck and admire the rows from a distance ... except that the rows didn’t really show very well in the sea of green.  I knew the time had come.

It’s always easy to identify prime weeding weather – it is at least 27 degrees with a humidity factor of 106% making it ‘feel like’ you’re going to melt somewhere between the zucchini and the zinnias.

But my ‘persistent’ streak had kicked in.  Heat and humidity be damned!  I was going to have clean rows, or die trying!  It’s been close a time or two, but I’m still among the living and I only have about one third left to go.

I am greatly aided by the aerial crop sprayer who buzzes our house at 5:00 in the morning; no need to set an alarm clock.  Then it’s breakfast and coffee and off to the trenches before the sun is too nasty.  Just so the job isn’t too overwhelming I choose how much I’m going to tackle for the morning and then proceed to ‘get down and dirty’.  The rule is I can go beyond my daily allotment but I can’t quit until at least that much is done. 

I have powered through blisters on my hoe hand.  I have to continually stop to wipe the sweat away from my eyes.  I wear a big sun hat to keep the sun from crispy frying my ears. The dirt sticks to everywhere I have applied sunscreen, but the spot I missed sizzles to a lovely shade of tomato.  The other day I was almost hit by a terrified bunny.  Actually, I never saw Mr. Rabbit but the dog loping through the corn gave me a pretty good idea what had grazed the top of my head.  Don’t ever let anyone tell you that weeding the garden in a July heat wave isn’t without its risks and perils.

Once I have my persistent little brain focussed on something, though, I just don’t want to give in.  I know sunstroke is a serious thing but I just have to finish this one... last ... row.

I couldn’t tell you how many times the horse flies have had to come and save me from my folly but they did it again this morning.  I ignored the blisters and sweat and heat and the dirt and the dog and even the bunny but, just as the crop sprayer flying over the house at dawn got me out to my garden, being buzzed by a horse fly told me I was done for the day.