I'm not sure what lit a spark in my brain to think of the word "conglomeration," but it happened a few days ago as I was stringing a "hot wire" to keep the deer out of the "postage stamp farm" in our back yard.
Maybe it was because I glanced at the three pitiful rows of bunch green beans that were trying to survive among the chickweed and that purple flowering weed that seems to survive any and every place. Perhaps I exaggerate a bit (make that a lot), but that must have been what triggered a visual picture of the first garden I planted.
Before I explain "conglomeration," I will mention my garden this year is smaller than last year. In fact, it has shrunk in size each year for the past several years. The rows are shorter and there aren't as many as usual -- three rows of bunch beans, four rows of corn, four tomato plants (plus one volunteer from last year), four pepper plants (no volunteers) and a couple of really short rows of okra. Oh yes, I almost forgot the half dozen cucumber plants that have started to travel up the cattle panel.
It's the bean crop that really catches the eye. I planted the beans almost a month ago, waited patiently and checked them every day. You guessed it, about half of the seeds popped up. I thought seriously about scratching them up and replanting the entire rows. But then I had this brainstorm. I filled in the blank spots with new seeds and began another week-plus watch for results. Yep, just about half of those seeds made it to the top. It was back to another package of seed to fill in the shrinking number of blank spots. More waiting ... and reward! Now I have some plants almost ready to bloom, another "crop" trying to catch up and the lag behinds that are starting their second leaves. Make it a long growing season. 'Nuff said.
Now it's down to the meat of this 'cuff, "conglomeration" and my first attempt at gardening. I may have written about this several years ago and I hope I get the story right -- memory, you know. My folks always planted a garden and ordered their seeds by mail order from Henry Field and Company. I think it is still in business.
I must have been about five. I wanted to plant my own garden. And the answer to that request was when my mother pointed to this big word, "conglomeration," in the seed catalog, along with information for kids to send their own penny to receive their own special package of seeds for their own special garden. I happened to have a penny.
To make a long story short ... whew ... several days later, there, in the package with my folks' seed order, was this special big-word "conglomeration" packet for an anxious little feller.
I ripped it open. Fortunately, those seeds spilled out on the tabletop and the big, tiny and all sizes in between seeds were salvaged. To me, at that time, "conglomeration" apparently meant mess.
There were no rows in my first garden, just a square plot of ground about the size of the kitchen table top, just waiting to be seeded. I accommodated. It took less than a minute to scatter the "mess" (seeds) on the ground and use a rake to cover them. Looking back, probably five or six inches deep in spots, while others were still on top of the ground. Then it was wait ... wait ... wait!
Surely no kids today could possibly be as impatient as I was for the next week. (Someone in the family mentioned a while ago that my impatience has really grown up, and out, and ... well, you get the picture).
Lots of green began to show. I tried my hand using a hoe and went on my knees to pull what I figured were weeds. As the days and weeks passed, the reward became visible, some tiny little flowers, some taller plants that might have been weeds, two plants that I recognized as corn that looked like those in my folks' garden plot. There was a creepy-crawly plant that, in later years, I realized must have been a cucumber. And some stinky plants, at least they were when I pulled some up. They matched my mom's marigold plants.
Oh, it was fun. As summer approached, I enjoyed the fruits of my folks' labor as my plot of ground returned to lawn. And the world still turned. But, voila, my first time to really dig in the dirt infected me with the urge to have a real little garden of my own the next year ... and next ... and next. And here we are today, still enjoying the feel, the smell, the confidence of digging in the dirt, as well as the frustrations, like those of my current bean crop.
When I started this 'cuff, I intended it to be a "conglomeration" column on many topics, but my usual rant or rave took too long. If my memory doesn't play tricks, I'll try a real "conglomeration" 'cuff next time, or sometime. If I can stay out of the garden long enough to pound the old Underwood.
Till then, it's not "bon voyage" but "happy digging in the dirt" to all you gardening lovers.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 06/01/2016