My idea of gardening is to put on a wide-brimmed hat and some old clothes. And with a hoe in one hand and a glass of peach iced tea in the other, I tell somebody else where to dig. I have mastered crabgrass, though. Not killing it---growing it. In fact, I can grow it on a bowling ball in a room with no sunlight or air. Interestingly, though, I haven't discovered a way to kill it that doesn't involve nuclear weapons. And bulbs? They're potential flowers that are buried in the fall, never to be seen again. Sigh.
I figure God gave us the rain and those snowy days so we could get our housework done. Ah, there's another of my weak areas---housework. It's discouraging to make up the beds . . . and then two weeks later to have to do it all over again. One good thing about our February snow was that for two days my lawn looked as nice as my neighbor's.
I sat beside Beulah Jetknott at the banquet. She said her husband told her that if she buys any more hanging baskets he would leave her. “I'm going to miss that man,” she sighed. Then Rhonda Aphidinger commented that, to her husband, a perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken. I figure her husband shouldn't plant a garden any bigger than Rhonda can maintain.
Sheila Pierce suggested that the first step in preparing the soil for a garden is to borrow the neighbor's motorized garden tiller. “What if my neighbor doesn't own a garden tiller?” asked Beulah.
“Suggest that he buy one,” answered Sheila, matter-of-factly. Knowing Sheila, I figure she no longer talks to her plants. She probably screams at them and now houses troubled and insecure pot-hugging introverts.
Years ago, a man south of town named Fat Mulvaney bought an old, run-down, abandoned farm with plans to turn it into a thriving enterprise. The fields were grown over with weeds, the farmhouse was falling apart, and the fences were broken down.
During his first day of work, his pastor Rev. Neil Downe stopped by to visit. He said, “Fat, you and God working together can make this the farm of your dreams!”
A few months later, Rev. Downe stopped by again. Lo and behold, it was a completely different place. The farm house was completely rebuilt and in excellent condition. The place had plenty of livestock happily munching on feed in well-fenced pens, and the fields were filled with crops planted in neat rows.
“Amazing!” Rev. Downe said. “Look what God and you have accomplished together!”
“Yes, Reverend Downe,” said Fat, “but remember what the farm was like when God was working it alone!”