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Family Daze
Dear God, please give me strength to grow a garden
By Debbie Farmer
Give me the perseverance to find a portion of dirt in my backyard that's free from old popsicle sticks and sand toys, out of range of the swing set, and not used as a tricycle parking lot or a soccer field.
Bestow on me the ability to say names like Mussaendra luteola and Eustoma grandiflorum since I am stuck living in a high maintenance planting zone that seems to be conducive to only unpronounceable flowers.
Give me the courage to face the fact that the crate of bulbs, that took six weeks to be delivered and three hours of backbreaking labor to plant, can be dug up in five minutes by a two-year-old with a toy shovel.
Guide me through the backyard over plastic toys, irrigation systems, and wire mesh to untangle the dog from the watering hose for the 15th time.
Help me accept that everything in my garden is either expensive, high maintenance, or unpronounceable, and the only thing that looks the same as it did in the mail order catalog is the dirt.
Grant me patience when my daughter waters all of the bulbs with apple juice because "they look thirsty."
Give me the strength to remain silent when my husband puts pans of beer throughout the garden to get rid of the snails.
Comfort me when all of the pans are empty--and the dog is staggering around the backyard trying to do the limbo with the low branches on the apple tree.
And when it rains (and you know it will, God) give me the strength to spend all afternoon on my knees in the mud blowing the moisture off the new sprouts with my hair dryer so they don't catch "a fatal fungal disease."
In your infinite wisdom, show me how to turn off the automatic drip irrigation system that has been on since some time in mid-March.
Grant me serenity when my son presents me with a bouquet of freshly pulled daffodils crammed into an old plastic sand bucket - and the ability to smile when he tries to replant them.
And, if I ask too much God, just give me the foresight to know that, no matter what I do, by the end of summer the flowers will be run over by plastic roller skates; the gardening stakes will be used for goal posts; and the fertile soil will, once again, be filled with old popsicle sticks and sand toys. And it won't bother me one bit.
Debbie Farmer can be contacted at familydaze@home.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
