Plan of Attack: Part One

Despite the title, there really wasn't one.  A month ago, my husband laid out and anchored the landscaping timbers into an 8 x 16 plot that would one day become something resembling a garden.  "One day" seemed to be the phrase of note.

Arkansas weather being what it is during the Spring (also known as the season Mother Nature goes off her meds) it was a couple of weeks before I could start the process of turning the soil so that it looked more like a potential garden plot and less like weed nursery.  So, bearing a shovel, heavy duty gloves, and a happy determination, I started what I thought would be the Hard Part.

Most people will probably recognize that the first mistake I made was using a shovel.  Hey, some of us learn the hard way.

The happy left me fairly quickly when I discovered that we actually grew rocks more than we grew weeds.  Most of them were small and suitably annoying enough that every time I heard the shovel go "clink" my cursing was relatively mild, at least not enough to scare the neighbors.  (Considering all of them have a garden of some type or another, I figured they would understand anyway.)

And, then the shovel went "clunk".

Okaaaay...

I shifted the shovel a few inches over.

"Clunk."

I shifted the shovel several more inches.

"Clunk."

That's when I decided it was a good time to take a break and ponder the situation.

Now, I had to take frequent breaks anyway for several reasons:  one, I forgot to buy sun screen, so I was doing my best to keep from burning to a crisp; two, I am a massage therapist and my hands tire quickly, plus I didn't want blisters; and three, I am woefully out-of-shape.  These things definitely seemed to have more merit than the mystery item in my soon-to-be garden.

I sat on the deck steps, wiping the sweat from my brow, and drinking water.  As I stared at the plot, several things went through my head:

• A scene in "The Quiet Man" where John Wayne digs up yet another rock while planting roses and declares, "Now, I know why you have so many rock walls in this country!"
• "It's not even my luck that it's buried treasure.  I'm sure my luck dictates that it's a shallow grave."
• "'Oh, you're planting a garden!  You'll have so much fun!' Ms. Molly said.  I need to go ask her when the fun starts."
• "If it is a shallow grave, do I have to alert the authorities or can I keep the bones to use during Halloween?"
• "I know why they call it a garden 'plot' because I definitely think it's plotting my demise.  Maybe it's cursed land and it actually ate the last would-be gardener.  Would explain the shallow grave."

I didn't say they were sane thoughts.

After a while, my determination boosted, and I stood to go dig the Thing up.

There are several reasons I want a garden beyond fresh veggies and a reason to get my ass out of the house.  Good exercise as well, sure, but I also wanted to prove to myself I can finish something this large.  Besides, there was something to be said about having a calming place where it wasn't about me or the stress in my life, but these quiet, living things who need protection and love.

I was not going to be beaten by geological upstart!

It took me the better part of a half hour to dig the damn thing out of my way to Zen inner peace.

It was unfortunate that it wasn't anything as exciting as human bones or buried treasure.  Alas, it was just a rock.  A rock the size of a small dog, but just a rock.  (About as equally annoying as a small dog as well.)

With that out of the way, I labored bearing a little paranoia that the next thing that made the shovel go "clink" would require the use of heavy machinery for removal.

Two hours and a blister later, I reached the half-way mark.  I didn't think working with a shovel to break up and turn soil would be so slow, but live and learn these things so you don't have to.

Worn out but feeling good about my accomplishments and the healthy amount of earthworms I found, I figured it was okay to stop for the night.  The next day, I could go get the garden soil and finish turning the earth.

Please note that this was the middle of March.

Yeah, you see where I'm going.

(To be continued...)




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Please note also that it was during this time period my husband decided he didn't want to be married anymore.  Both of us went into individual counseling in the hopes of saving our relationship, but my sanity at the time was definitely wearing thin.  Luckily, gardening is a pretty good anchor.  Besides, I kept having dreams my garden ate him.  Hey, we all get through tough times in our own way.