Beaned-Up

On Monday afternoon, thinking that I was racing approaching stormclouds, I shot hooky from work, rushed through the garden center for more seeds, and sped home to get them in the ground before the rain came. The garden is now full of beans - well, bean seeds, at least - enough to end world hunger. Black beans, white beans, green beans, speckled beans, purple hull peas....

Nanny said she'd like lots of butterbeans, and she got 'em: six rows, 4 different varieties. She'll probably be cussing me, come picking time.

Just as I finished planting the last row of beans and was putting away the gardening tools, Pop-Pop said, "I just felt a drop of rain." There was still an unopened pack of cucumber seeds in my apron pocket. I hurried up the driveway to plant them in the empty rows in the new tomato patch. Dropping to my knees, I shaped the tilled soil into "hills" with my bare hands and poked the cucumber seeds into them as big, black rain clouds approached. A big raindrop hit me in the top of the head as I was making my way back to my house where, exhausted, I collapsed onto the couch and waited for Mother Nature to water the seeds.

Two days later, it still hasn't rained on this little corner of the world. Drive a few miles in any direction, and find puddles standing in ditches, but not here. As I write this, the weatherman is predicting scattered rainstorms all around, yet there are clear, bright skies over Bean City.

Pop-Pop says not to worry, that there's plenty moisture in the ground to bring the seeds up, even if it doesn't rain on us this time. Just in case, I bought miles of garden hose, enough to stretch from my house across the road to the tomato patch. I shall trust Pop-Pop's judgment for a few more days, then take matters into my own hands.

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Hooray for Handymen!

Two weeks ago, the menfolk decided that the big tiller needed a trip to the repair shop for some serious tuning-up. While they hoisted Big Red into the truck bed with some hydraulic contraption, I tossed in Little Black, the mini tiller, alongside it. Last year, 10-year-old Little Black got sick. His motor would run, and his tines would turn...until I tried to dig. Once those tines hit the dirt, they stopped turning, as if it was simply too much effort to bite into the ground. Pop-Pop said he figured the rotor was worn out, but never got the chance to tear into it last summer to verify the diagnosis. I hoped the small engine repair guy could fix it.

When the small engine repair guy saw Little Black, he said, "What in the world is this?" Though we left it with him, he scarcely glanced at it, and sent it home unrepaired.

I was mightily offended.

Pop-Pop said that if I still had the tiller manual, we could order the part we need. Miraculously, I found the manual, and yesterday Pop-Pop showed me what to order. I brought the manual to my computer desk, intending to order the part, but when I logged on, I got side-tracked reading e-mail and other things, and did not order the part. Good thing, too, because an hour later, Pop-Pop rode up the driveway on his little scooter and announced that Little Black didn't need a rotor, after all; he only needed his breather cleaned.

After supper, Joel and I biked down to Pop-Pop's shop. Little Black's business end was in pieces on the workbench. While Joel and I planted some beans, Pop-Pop reassembled Little Black. He fired up after a couple of pulls, and Joel walked him to the garden to test him. Bless his little 2-cylinder heart, he tore into the dirt and loosened up two rows without missing a beat. He's healed!

And, boy, do I have plans for him today. It's supposed to rain this afternoon, and possibly for several more days. I need to plant more seeds before the rain comes. If I can talk the boss into letting me off early today, Little Black will be busy this afternoon.

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Tomatoes

On Thursday, Mr. Charles came with his tractor and tiller and finished preparing the garden plots. Nanny said that, at one point, she looked out the window and saw the tractor slowly rolling down the hill without Mr. Charles on it. She nearly had a conniption fit, thinking that he'd fallen off the tractor. She ran outside and was relieved to spot Mr. Charles standing at the top of the hill, watching as the tractor slowly rolled to a stop. It seems that he'd gotten off the tractor at the end of the driveway to pick up Pop-Pop's newspaper and had not set the brake. (Do tractors even have parking brakes?) Fortunately, the tractor came to a stop long before reaching the creek at the bottom of the hill.

Friday afternoon, I went to the greenhouse and bought 108 tomato plants. After setting out about 1/3 of them that very afternoon, Pop-Pop informed me that the Almanac said to plant tomatoes on Saturday or Sunday. I gladly dropped my shovel for the day, and resumed the job on Saturday morning. We'll see if the Saturday tomatoes do better than the Friday tomatoes.

I am stiff as a poker today, but there are about 18 empty rows waiting to be planted in the other garden plot. I'm going to get to it as soon as my joints "loosen up" a little. Nanny has already planted squash and okra. Today I intend to plant cucumbers, butterbeans, and green beans.

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Plowing

Last Saturday morning, Nanny called and said, "Pete's here to break up the garden. I just thought I'd let you know."

Translation: "If you want him to do it like you want it done, you'd better get your butt down here."

So I dropped what I was doing, hopped on my bicycle, and pedaled down the driveway to "supervise."

Mr. Pete was cranking the big blue tractor as I got there. Pop-Pop was standing off to one side, directing the action with a tomato stake pointer. Four more tomato stakes marked out the corners of the garden. The layout looked okay to me, so I just sidled up next to Pop-Pop to watch as the breaking plow peeled up the soil.

Because of last year's blight issue, I had decided to move the tomatoes to a whole new spot, far away from the usual garden plot to a corner of the former horse pasture, just across the road from my house. While Mr. Pete was breaking the garden, I pedaled back up the driveway to open the gate at the corner of the pasture so that he could get in there with the tractor. As I was opening the gate, Joel was coming down the driveway on his bicycle. We rode back down to the garden together, and when Mr. Pete finished in the garden, I pointed up the driveway and asked him to break up the spot for the tomatoes. when he started down the driveway on the tractor, I turned my attention to scattering some garden lime on the newly-plowed ground.

Evidently, I was not too clear with my directions, for a minute or two later, I heard Joel yell, "Did you tell Mr. Pete where you wanted the tomatoes?"

"Yeah."

"He's parked the tractor in our driveway."

I squinted for a clearer view. "Maybe he's just walking off the place he's going to plow."

"He's in our YARD."

I squinted again, and sure enough, there was Mr. Pete, standing with his hands on his hips in the only sunny, tree-free spot in our yard. I made one of those involuntary "eeek!" noises. "Catch him!"

Joel jumped on his bicycle and pedaled up the driveway as fast as he could. I dropped my bag of lime, grabbed my bike, and followed him. Thankfully, Joel reached our yard in time to stop Mr. Pete from plowing it up.

Whew...close one.

Another neighbor, Mr. Charles, came later in the week with a harrow to knock apart the big clods that the breaking plow had left. Seeing the smoothe soil, I wanted to hurry to the greenhouse for some tomato plants, but Nanny said Mr. Charles was coming back with a tractor tiller to really pulverize the soil. He didn't get to it before the week was up. Now it has rained, and it will be several more days before he can finish. Hopefully, by next weekend, we'll be planting.

Within two days of planting the cabbage and broccoli that I planted a couple of weeks ago, rabbits ate them. All that remains of them are nubby little stalks. Rabbit stew is sounding very delicious to me right now.

But Pop-Pop acquired some wire cages, so I bought some new plants to try again, as soon as the ground is dry enough.

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