I finally have the garden in at my parents' house now. Well, actually, my dad and I have it in. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, said, "Y'all grow it and I'll cook it."

That sounded fair to me, especially since she is a lot more kitchen savvy than I am. In addition to that fact, if I ever tried to cook in her kitchen growing up I always got into trouble.

"Get out of my kitchen," she would say, as if that were her turf. Sometimes she didn't mind, so long as she was present and aware and it wasn't something that smelled bad or made a mess.

The kitchen was the only room in the house she claimed as her own; unless, of course, one of us (my father included) tried to wear dirty shoes into the house, then it was all her house. To this day she does not allow "outside shoes" inside the house. For years I thought I was Japanese.

My mother used to work in the garden, I recall. I'd say she'll be in it before the summer's up. So far this year she has already planted flowers.

I would rather plant vegetables. They get flowers on them and, if all goes well and the Lord smiles on you, they eventually turn into an edible thing. Only goats eat roses.

Oh, well. That's beside the point. As for the garden, I bought the seed and fertilizer and laid off the rows with an old-fashioned lay-off plow. I didn't remember that being so much work. It sounds pretty easy, just pushing a metal-wheeled thing through the dirt and making rows.

I guess I am having some of my problems since I started watching my weight - I've just got to get it out there where I can see it first. I did make it all the way down, 15 60-foot rows in all. It doesn't sound like much, but my huffer was puffing when it was time to fetch the potatoes. Dad cut all of them in half, making sure each one had at least two eyes on it, and I put them in the ground about 12 inches apart. I usually just measure with one of my feet, close enough to 12 inches, at least for a town this size.

At any rate, I got four rows of potatoes in the dirt out of the 50 pounds of seed potatoes (Kennebecs, of course). Later, we put in some golden queen corn, sweet peas, snap beans and crook-neck squash. We also found some lettuce and cabbage, icicle radishes and the red radishes, red tomatoes, striped tomatoes and yellow tomatoes, yellow peppers and banana peppers, cucumbers and a few gourds. I don't know if I forgot anything or not, but I figure that ought to just about cover it.

I had one fellow tell me to be careful to watch for the signs before planting. I just try to wait until I have a day off after the first week of May to get it done. While I was out at the garden, my father told me that he used to look forward to the springtime to get out into the garden. "I couldn't wait to break the dirt," he told me. "I love the feel of the soil in my hands."

He hadn't had a garden in a couple years, mostly for health reasons. He really missed that. I personally think that gardens are just handy excuses for grown-ups to play in the dirt.

I didn't like working in the garden or mowing the grass when I was a young boy. I still hate to mow - it all seems so pointless. Mow it down and watch it grow and then mow it down again. When I lived out in the country, sometimes I would just grow hay in my yard. The critters prefer that to this three-inch tall stuff. I suppose yards are an American affliction, just like painting over perfectly good wood.

My favorite part is going out to the garden to look for those first little green shoots coming out of the ground, getting their first chance to peer up at the life-giving sunlight. It never ceases to amaze me when a little dry seed put in a pile of dirt becomes a plant and then bears fruit.

I went out there Sunday, but I only saw a few little sprigs of grass poking up from freshly-tilled ground. I guess grass just grows better than corn. If I could only explain that to those big naked spots in the yard, I'd be alright.

You know, this isn't starting off like too good a year for gardens or grass. If we don't get some good soaking rain this week, we won't have either.

Just like those little seeds, the Lord planted us here, whether or not He waters us is up to Him.

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