Sorry. Your Garden is in Lake Ft. Smith

My blog today has virtually nothing to do with eating vegan. The promise of a summer tomato may be the only connection. We've had a bit of weather here lately and with the frequent power outages, I can't seem to keep the stove on long enough to make a decent  meal. My internet connection is pretty tenuous too but I am hoping through the magic of "cut and paste" I can slip this post in before we loose power again. It's a column I've written for our local weekly. Sort of a Green Acres saga and an adventure at the local farmer's markets.. I hope you enjoy it. Or that you will at least humor me...

My newfound love of gardening had me so excited! Last summer's record heat was just a brutal memory. The record cold and snow were behind us. The ice storms but a dream. “It hasn't been this hot/dry/cold/icy in years.” everyone told me. And so, I looked forward to spring, my own garden. A patch of peas. A bed of beans. Some great tomatoes.

I'd moved the rocks. I'd pulled the weeds. I'd brought in the manure. I made a raised bed, of sorts. No mater that it was crooked and ugly and sloped forty five degrees, it was a raised bed. I was on my way to vegetable bliss, produce heaven, tomato nirvana. Four heirloom varieties from a local nursery and two from some thoughtful neighbors(I have a lot of thoughtful neighbors) and I was ready for some serious tomato goodness.

But then, it started to rain. And, then it hailed. Then the wind blew and it rained some more. And then, as I sat on my porch watching, it flooded and the lightening swirled and the thunder raged. I watched my prized heirloom varieties sail off my pitiful excuse of a raised bed and head south, down into the valley. So proud they looked on their southward journey. So stiff and erect as the floated on by, I just knew they were thanking me for such loving care. Or maybe, they were thinking “You chump! You know nothing about gardening! It hasn't been this rainy for years!”

To make matters worse, my guardian angel stopped by. This is the man who has hauled my ashes out of the fire on numerous occasions when it became apparent that my country skills were well, kind of lacking. My septic tank was floating up and out of the soggy ground. The basement looked like a small lake. There is a raging river bed flowing across the property. “You should have never moved those rocks.” he said and got into his truck as the rain started again. Which is code for, “You are such a dumb ass but, we are glad you're here. It never rains this much here. Really.”

John Ford lives in Winslow. He is busy putting those rocks back where he found them...