The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #87089 Message #1625033
Posted By: open mike
11-Dec-05 - 12:22 PM
Thread Name: BS: Seed Catalogs comin' in the Mailbox
Subject: RE: BS: Seed Catologs comin' in the Mailbox
the bermuda and johnson grass are VERY successful and I, consequently and NOT.
I played the song Home Grown Tomatoes (by Guy and Susanna Clark) yesterday, and was re-inspired to do more plamting next spring. The last verse says "When i die don't bury me in a box in the cemetary, out in the garden would be much better, then I can be pushing up Home Grown Tomatoes....."
I was travelling last summer and cut way back on the planting as i knew i would not be here to tend it. I was reminded of what I heard about one of the former members of the Weavers, Lee Hayes, who, as a diabetic had to have some of his toes amputated due to poor circulation. He wrote a song "Ode to My Toes" about them being buried in the compost pile.
Mario---22 gardens??!! do you mean garden BEDS??!!
but the best song for all of us un-wavering gardeners is by Stephanie Davis...called Harvest time... see www.stephaniedavis.net it is off of her Crocus in the Snow
Harvest Time, Stephanie Davis
Well, it starts with the catalog that comes in the mail In the middle of the winter when you've had it with those pale
Thick skinned store-bought sorry hard-as-rock excuses for tomatoes with the flavor of a sock
And there on the cover sits the jucey red-ripe home grown tomato that you've had dancing in your head
Never mind you said last august that you'd had it up to here
With the hoeing and the weeding That's what you say every year
So you fix a cup of cocoa Sink into your favorite chair
Put your feet up and you thumb throught the pictures and compare
Big Boys, Better Boys, Early Girls, Romas,
The new disease and drought resistant hybrids from Sonoma
Then its onto peas and carrots, lima beans and beets and kale
and you never tried Kohlrabi, Say, the lettuce is on sale
What's a garden without sweet corn, better plant some marigolds
And you just read in Prevention about how garlic's good for colds
So you phone an order in that nearly melts your VISA card
and stare out at the foot of snow that blankets your back yard
and visualize a garden so peaceful and serene til at last
you close your eyes and slip into a dream about
Harvest Time, Bushels of red, ripe tomatoes
Harvest Time, Sweet corn that melts in your mouth
Well, the days turn to weeks, and the next thing you know
There's a robin at the feeder and the last patch of snow
disappears about the time The UPS truck backs up to your house
and you stand there awe struck as
47 perishable "plant right away" marked boxes
are unloaded on your porch And you say "are you sure?"
Yes ma'am, need your signature here
Looks like someone's gonna have 'em quite a garden this year
Well, you watch 'em drive away then you sink to your knees
cuz you feel a little woozy, 47 boxes please God I know i've got a problem
and we've had this talk before but, Help me this one last time I won't order any more
Just then as if in answer to your prayer, Your sister's van pulls up into the driveway
with Aunt Martha, Uncle Stan, two nephews and a cousin
who just stopped to say hello, but soon are sporting callusses
as up and down each row, you , their warden, push 'em
It's a scene from Cool Hand Luke, over there, the clods need breaking
leave more space around that cuke, See those bags of steer manure?
bring a dozen over fast! Yes I see you have lumbago
But you'll thank me when at last its
Harvest Time, all the zuchinni your van can hold
Harvest Time, show you what a strawberry should taste like
Harvest Time, might even let you help me dig potatoes
Well that night it starts to sprinkle and you can't help but feelin' smug
cuz your garden's in the ground gettin' watereed while you're snug
underneath the covers, or at least until midnight when the temperature starts dropping
and in no time you are smack right in the middle of your garden
in your jammies on your knees, with a head light and a hammer
and some tarps and jeez louise it's cold
but you keep working til the last plant's safe from harm
til there's holes in your new jammies and brucitis in your arm
cuz by gosh you're a gardener, right down to your muddly clogs
and even when the rabbits take your lettuce
stray dogs pee on your zuchinni, and a fungus goes to your kale
cuz it's rained for 2 weeks solid, do you falter? do you fail?
yes of course you throw your hoe down stamp your feet
and call it quits declare for all the gods to hear
gardening is the pits, and you'll never plant another
and this one can bloody rot
and suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds and like as not
you see a couple of weeds you must have misssed the last go round
shake your head and meekly pick your hoe up off the ground and
hoe and keep on hoeing til your Romas dangle red ripe and juicy on the vine
Sweet corn towers over head, Beans hanging from their trellis
big orange pumpkins sprawl about, and you get that satisfied feeling
once more when you shout
Harvest Time, man the pressure cooker
Harvest Time, break out those canning jars
Harvest Time, you HAVE to take zuchinni, we're related