The Old Woman's Garden

The Old Woman’s Garden

The old woman stood straddling a row of beets both hands massaging her lower back. A sigh escaped the wrinkled mouth as she wondered for at least the second time that day why she continued to plant and inevitably weed more garden than she really needed. Didn’t she have enough to do what with working at the café. The truth was that years as a farm girl and then a farm wife had conditioned her for this response. Besides, growing up on the farm there were better uses of cash money than buying canned food. Anyway, fresh vegetables were much more delicious than something coming from a can or frozen package. She gazed a few moments across her luxuriant garden reflecting on it. Her thoughts on grandchildren wondering with curiosity at the sight of all the seed packets in the old dresser drawer on the back porch, and seeds waiting in dishes of warm water over night before planting day. The smell of warm soil on a late spring day excited the grandchildren as they poked holes in soft soil before seeds were dropped in and carefully covered. Weeks later the war of weeds had begun. The grandchildren took turns pushing the one-wheel cultivator down the middle between rows while with her triangle shaped hoe each row and variety of vegetables were scrupulously attended. She smiled to herself thinking of garden time as she called it. Each in their order her crop began emerging from warm fragrant earth. Feathery, green carrot tops, wrinkly leaved chard on licorice red stems. Pale green cabbage leaves. After that pungent tomato vines needed support to keep the eventual ripening fruit from collapsing them. Back from her reverie she made her way to the end of the garden and picking up her basket of freshly picked peas went into the large old farmhouse to make her supper of chicken and fresh vegetables. After cleaning up she sat in front of the television shelling peas. Precisely at nine after putting away the peas she slowly climbed the stairs stopping at an oval shaped old photo of her husband and his brothers in their youth. She stroked the image of her husband whispering his name. “Charlie, I miss you”. She showered, put on her night clothes and climbed into bed. The moon was full and lit up the room at the end of the hall where she and Charlie had slept for more than four decades. She lay awake a few minutes listening to the night sounds of whippoorwills, crickets and an occasional owl. The restful sleep after hard physical work soon found her and she slept soundly ‘til morning. Summer sun made its way up the sky early and by six she had already had her breakfast and readied herself for work at the café. She decided that today she’d walk the mile or more to work and take a taxi home after. The day went quickly as she made one pie or batch of doughnuts after another. By the end of the day her feet informed her that indeed she should call the taxi. The taxi driver, an acquaintance of long standing waited patiently while she picked up a few groceries and delivered her to the old farmhouse at the edge of town. As she put away her few groceries and began preparing her small supper, she noticed clouds beginning to gather in the east as she looked out the kitchen window. Her brows knit in concern for her garden as the lightening flashed in the distance and the storm raced her way. Dinner grew cold on the plate as she stood at the dining room window watching the rain pelt the garden and wind bend knee high corn stalks and push tomato vines hard against the stakes. Thunder so loud the old woman covered her ears and lightening so bright it caused momentary blindness made her turn her face away from the window. The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived racing on to batter other gardens elsewhere. Hesitantly the old woman left the back porch in her old oversized overshoes and plastic raincoat to survey the damage. She walked each row tension easing with each row as she realized she had been spared the hail which would have shredded leaves and crushed the younger seedlings into the dirt. By the last row her dread had completely gone and she returned to the kitchen to reheat her now cold supper. Before climbing into bed, she opened the window in order to feel the cool after rain breeze and take in the smell of freshly wet soil. The whippoorwill’s cry and the occasional hoot from an owl lulled her to a restful sleep.

           Hot sultry days engulfed the lush garden. Things grew apace vivid, and tall. The battle of weeds and insects consuming much of her effort. Harvesting of ripening produce was a daily task and as soon as possible putting it up in Mason jars, hauling baskets of cooled jars to the cellar for storage. There never seemed to be enough hours to complete it all. The old woman gave away what she could to family and neighbors. This part of garden time seemed endless and wearying. By the end of September growth began slowing and only a few things remained to harvest. The first light frost showed itself in early October and it was time to begin putting the garden to bed. She pulled the dried plant material and placed it in one corner of the garden for eventual burning. By late October after burning the pile her nephew who lived just across the driveway came with his tractor and plow laying the season to rest. Garden time slowed to a crawl as winter approached.

           The old woman stood in the cellar surveying the hard work now in neatly shelved and labeled jars and smiled as she thought of the fable of the ant and the grasshopper. She fancied herself the diligent grasshopper enjoying the fruits of her labor through the coming winter. She had shared as much of her fresh abundance as she could and still had more than sufficient for her own needs. Hard fall frosts and deep winter snows blanketed her garden as she sat in her rocker enjoying this pause in garden time. As she rocked, she leafed through the seed catalogues which had begun to come in the mail enticing gardeners with images of flowers, fruit, trees, and vegetables. Perched above her ear was a pencil ready to circle any new variety of something she might like to try in the spring. The garden time which was so much a part of her life would come again and she would be ready.