Snow peas, anyone?
Iam beginning to think T.S. Eliot was right: April really is the cruelest month. And you don’t have to say, ‘I told you so.’ That’s been taken care of. I love an early garden and completely understand the risk you take when you plant one. But, I must say, I did not expect it to snow on my efforts.
I took a picture Tuesday morning, last week, with the snow on my early garden. Whether the peas survive or not, I will let you know later. In the background you can see the six “towers of water” that protect my early tomato plants. They do a very good job. I have never lost a tomato using them. The plant gets well rooted and stronger, and, often, by the time I take the towers off, some of the plants will have beautiful, yellow blooms.
The above two paragraphs were written before the 22 degree weather we had Tuesday night, last week. Now, I am as concerned for my fruit trees as I was for the early garden. From here on, we can only keep our heads up and hope for the best. If I lose the harvest from a fruit tree, that’s one thing. It is quite another if some of our farmers and orchardists suffer the loss of a crop. We will say a prayer for them.
Last year, a good friend who plays mandolin in our little bluegrass group, told us to come down and get some black raspberries, as he had picked all his family could use and we were welcome to them. We picked several quarts of very nice berries, and made some of the best black raspberry jam you ever tasted.
About a week ago, that friend called and said come get some of the little sprouts that were coming up everywhere in his raspberry patch. We took advantage of that generosity, as well. We now have about 30 black raspberry plants in the ground and can’t wait for our first harvest, which will probably be next year, if all goes well.
It is amazing to me how much the good earth will give you if you care for it. If you are willing to do a little digging, endure the occasional backache, get your knees and fingernails dirty in the care of simple plants, you may enjoy the very fruits and vegetables of your labor. I know that in some earlier life I must have been a farmer. It seems, sometimes, that is what I was born to be.
I may have mentioned this before, but my good friend, Eddie Williams, told me once that there was nothing like it, and, when it comes to farming, I believe Mr. Williams knows what he is talking about. Yes, it is hard work and, as we have seen, there are occasional setbacks to deal with. But there is a deep satisfaction that comes with the harvest.
The last couple of weeks my columns have been a tad long, and so I will grant you some relief this week by ending with this quote from a book I am trying to get more familiar with.
This is the gift of God: that all people should eat, drink, and enjoy the results of their hard work.
— Ecclesiastes 3:13