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

Harvest Time, now THIS is a tomato