I’ve decided: I’m going into farming.
It was an impulsive decision, of course. Like all the others.
On my way into HEB this morning, passing shelves packed with plants, I had a vision: homegrown tomatoes. Red, sweet, tart, fleshy, seedy, from-vine-to-table tomatoes. Real tomatoes.
Bacon and tomato sandwiches.
I selected two hardy specimens and set them in the baby seat of my shopping cart.
Then my eye fell on the bell pepper plants, and I had another vision: $1.18 each, regular price.
That’s today. Goodness knows how much they’ll cost tomorrow.
I selected one pepper plant and set it in the shelf at the front of the cart.
Then I pushed them all over the store so people could appreciate my virtue.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that God made the country and man made the town.
I shall sow little seraphic seeds, regenerating the asphalt jungle.
I shall be a veritable Wordsworth, taking solace in nature.
Five minutes into planting, I shall start to itch, but a poet must sacrifice for his art, and I’m determined to have at least one decent tomato before summer is over.
It won’t be easy, though. I come from a long line of farmers, there’s not an agrarian bone in my body. I spent my life wandering among the cotton wagons lined up at the gin scale, but I can’t tell you when the ginning begins. August? Late July?
Every summer, I asked what people meant when they talked about the square, and my mother would launch into a detailed description of the maturation of the cotton plant. I never got the picture.
I know what a nice stand of maize looks like, and I can identify a corn field burning up in the sun (South Carolina, summer 1986), but that’s about all. I know that oats are very green and very pretty in winter.
I should be ashamed of myself. My father loved nothing more than getting on a tractor and plowing, watching the black soil turn. He and Mother talked crops and cows over dinner.
I, on the other hand, spent my life with my nose in a book. In summers, I took my nose out long enough to go swimming and horseback riding, but most of that was done between chapters. I named all the cows, but I saw them as pets.
My body was in the country. My mind was in the bookmobile.
But now I’m returning to my roots.
I brought the plants home, set the tomatoes in front of the microwave and the pepper on the table. (Counter space is at a premium here.)
When William jumped onto the table, as I knew he would, I put the pepper in the sink.
Before I go to bed, I’ll put all three plants into the bathtub and close the bathroom door. Cows you can trust; cats you can’t.
Tomorrow I’ll buy potting soil, get out the Benadryl, and make myself a farm.
And then I’m going to apply for my government subsidy.
Thanks to William Cowper ( “The Sofa,” from The Task ) for writing, “God made the country and man made the town.” Thanks to Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice) for writing the rest of that sentence.
Image of tomato by David Besa from Sonoma, USA (Flickr) [CC-BY-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Image of bell pepper (Quadrati d’Asti Giallo) by JayMGoldberg (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Image of cotton boll by KoS (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
10 thoughts on “Working the soil”
Does container farming count? I have two hardy tomato plants (with one minuscule tomato as of today) and four herbs so far. How does my subsidy look?
Everything counts, especially when you can already see harvest on the horizon. I’m not sure about your subsidy. I heard a new U. S. Rep. say those subsidies have to go, but when asked whether that included his $3 million farm subsidy, he would say only that “everything should be looked at.” So you’ll have to check with Washington.
We have been urban gardners in Austin for over 20 years. This year we have 10 tomatos, peppers of all varieties, onions, radishes, peas and beans, and cucumbers about to march up the trellises that Romeo has for them. Herbs of all manner and dill in hopes of feeding the butterflies and still having some for us! My sweet Romeo is retired-I am merely tired. He “tends-the-farm” while I am at the hospital.
Oh, I forgot to mention the potatos growing in bags and boxes, the two Meyer Lemon trees and I Mexican lime tree.
PS Subsidy? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA when pigs fly!
PSS I already saw a grasshopper..not a good sign.
Your garden sounds wonderful. Would that I had such energy. I imagine the vegetables taste wonderful, too. As for pigs flying, that’s about the time I expect my subsidy to come through.
I’ll be on the lookout for grasshoppers.
Good luck! You can do it.
Thank you. I shall put my mind to it, or as much of my mind as I can gather together.
I taught loads of farmers’ children in Cornwall. Nice, down-to earth children. Literacy lessons were full of goats and tractors.
Good luck in your endeavours. I am a broad brush veg gardener. If it can fend for itself I grow it 😀
I have the bad habit of bringing plants home to die. These are probably quaking in their little boots wondering when I’ll stop watering them. The ivy lives because my husband is conscientious and abides by a schedule.
Loved this post, Kathy. In recent years I have developed a longing to get back to gardening too. In fact right now I have a tray of seeds on a warming mat in my kitchen. Tomatoes and some blue pansies; I also have some terra cotta pots planted with basil. It’s satisfying to see things grow! Good luck to you with your gardening!
I wonder what it is about growing things that makes us feel so good. Good luck with your gardening, too.
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