Ah, spring. Time once again to indulge our inner horticulturalists and agrarians, to till the rich soil and begin the journey through the long, rich days of summer to a glorious harvest in the fall.
Or, if you prefer a less poetic approach, time to dig up the yard, throw in some seeds, and hope that whatever you planted doesn’t die.
I tend to go with the latter description. Not that I don’t like poetry — I am known far and wide for my ability to compose dirty limericks on demand — but because I see gardening for what it is: Backbreaking work. I dug up the vegetable garden on a Sunday and it was Wednesday afternoon before I could walk upright again. If my back wasn’t broken, it was severely bent.
Why? Because I turned the garden the old-fashioned way, with a shovel. It was the only alternative available after my yard-sale rototiller died with a rattle, a cough, and a burst of black smog. I knew instantly that it was beyond saving. I had a lawnmower, an Oldsmobile, and a chain-smoking great uncle who checked out the same way.
So there I was, out in the garden, turning the dirt with a shovel, pounding it with a hoe, grooming it with a rake, and reminding myself that in some parts of the world this is how they still plant crops.
(This, in turn, reminded me that in other parts of the world they have water buffalo to pull a plow. That led me to wonder if I could teach my dog Cookie to pull a garden plow. Answer, as I found out: Emphatic no.)
Now, you’ll notice I am speaking exclusively of a vegetable garden. I’m not much for flowers. If I’m going to throw out my back, I want something edible to show for it. Tomatoes. Green peppers. A couple of radishes. I don’t care, just as long as it’s food.
Of course, getting the food from the garden to the table isn’t easy, and I don’t just mean all the physical labor involved. First, you have to contend with the occasional dud, where you follow all the directions precisely, right down to using special fertilizer made of pasteurized Tibetan yak manure, and still the plants turn yellow and die as soon as they reach three inches tall. So much for selling okra to the neighbors.
Which brings us to those who wish to share your bounty. I speak of the local squirrels, who watched me plant seeds and planned their shopping lists accordingly: “Look! He’s planting fennel again! I love that stuff! I think we ate an entire row last year.”
Note: They did, and I was none too happy about it. For one thing, I love fennel. For another, I only planted one row.
So now the long growing season begins. We look at our seedlings, tiny little plants just breaking the surface of the earth, and see cabbages. Where today there’s just a piece of string marking a place in the soil, in fall there will be carrots. Ah, spring indeed. We cast our lot with nature (and the Burpee company) and begin the march toward bounteous autumn with hope in our hearts.
As in I hope the tomatoes don’t wilt. I hope the squirrels don’t eat all the fennel.
I'm old, white, and male. Three strikes and I'm out - disqualified, according to today's identity police, from having any legitimate opinions or making any pronouncements about race in an increasingly race-obsessed presidential campaign.
Welcome, friends! It's time once again for that fabulous game show: "App or No App!" The show where you decide if the app (short for application because that is way too long of a word) is real or not real. Today we explore the wonderful world of Facebook apps! Join us, won't you?
When it comes to the pantheon of Hoosier sports heroes - Johnny Wooden, Knute Rockne, Bob Knight, Larry Bird, Reggie Miller, Rick Mount, Bobby Plump, George Gipp - the newest name will certainly be Peyton Manning.
I realize this is a sentiment usually expressed by people who wear colanders on their heads in order to keep the CIA from reading their thoughts. That, of course, is just ridiculous. The CIA does not read people's brain waves. Queen Elizabeth does.
Mitt Romney summoned all the righteous indignation he could muster after a Newt Gingrich ad called him "anti-immigrant." Romney blasted the ad shortly afterward in an interview: "It's just inappropriate."
The city where I hang my shingle, or would if I did something shingleworthy, is all abuzz with excitement over the SuperDuper Bowl, which is coming to town one of these days soon. I forget which.
Have you heard anyone say it lately? I'm guessing you have. I'm guessing everyone within a 100-mile radius of Indianapolis has heard it many times over the past month and will probably hear it a zillion times over the next week. I just hope there are no casualties.
Rich Lowry and Brian Howey have each had commentaries in the Hendricks County Flyer that were a great PR job for Gov. Mitch Daniels. However, the recent Indiana unemployment drop from 10.5 percent to 9.8 percent was probably the result of the Bush and Obama bailout of GM and Chrysler, discouraged job applicants dropping out of the labor force (100,000 manufacturing jobs were eliminated since Daniels' election and prior to the financial/banking crises in 2008), imported cheap foreign labor (some who are illegal), and the Obama stimulus ($11 million in Hendricks County instead of collecting impact fees on new development) including energy grants and tax cuts for the middle class.
Commentary
Spring has sprung, and so have my vertebrae
BY MIKE REDMOND
Ah, spring. Time once again to indulge our inner horticulturalists and agrarians, to till the rich soil and begin the journey through the long, rich days of summer to a glorious harvest in the fall.
Or, if you prefer a less poetic approach, time to dig up the yard, throw in some seeds, and hope that whatever you planted doesn’t die.
I tend to go with the latter description. Not that I don’t like poetry — I am known far and wide for my ability to compose dirty limericks on demand — but because I see gardening for what it is: Backbreaking work. I dug up the vegetable garden on a Sunday and it was Wednesday afternoon before I could walk upright again. If my back wasn’t broken, it was severely bent.
Why? Because I turned the garden the old-fashioned way, with a shovel. It was the only alternative available after my yard-sale rototiller died with a rattle, a cough, and a burst of black smog. I knew instantly that it was beyond saving. I had a lawnmower, an Oldsmobile, and a chain-smoking great uncle who checked out the same way.
So there I was, out in the garden, turning the dirt with a shovel, pounding it with a hoe, grooming it with a rake, and reminding myself that in some parts of the world this is how they still plant crops.
(This, in turn, reminded me that in other parts of the world they have water buffalo to pull a plow. That led me to wonder if I could teach my dog Cookie to pull a garden plow. Answer, as I found out: Emphatic no.)
Now, you’ll notice I am speaking exclusively of a vegetable garden. I’m not much for flowers. If I’m going to throw out my back, I want something edible to show for it. Tomatoes. Green peppers. A couple of radishes. I don’t care, just as long as it’s food.
Of course, getting the food from the garden to the table isn’t easy, and I don’t just mean all the physical labor involved. First, you have to contend with the occasional dud, where you follow all the directions precisely, right down to using special fertilizer made of pasteurized Tibetan yak manure, and still the plants turn yellow and die as soon as they reach three inches tall. So much for selling okra to the neighbors.
Which brings us to those who wish to share your bounty. I speak of the local squirrels, who watched me plant seeds and planned their shopping lists accordingly: “Look! He’s planting fennel again! I love that stuff! I think we ate an entire row last year.”
Note: They did, and I was none too happy about it. For one thing, I love fennel. For another, I only planted one row.
So now the long growing season begins. We look at our seedlings, tiny little plants just breaking the surface of the earth, and see cabbages. Where today there’s just a piece of string marking a place in the soil, in fall there will be carrots. Ah, spring indeed. We cast our lot with nature (and the Burpee company) and begin the march toward bounteous autumn with hope in our hearts.
As in I hope the tomatoes don’t wilt. I hope the squirrels don’t eat all the fennel.
And I hope Cookie forgives me by then.
© 2009 Mike Redmond. All Rights Reserved.
I'm old, white, and male. Three strikes and I'm out - disqualified, according to today's identity police, from having any legitimate opinions or making any pronouncements about race in an increasingly race-obsessed presidential campaign.
February 7, 2012
Welcome, friends! It's time once again for that fabulous game show: "App or No App!" The show where you decide if the app (short for application because that is way too long of a word) is real or not real. Today we explore the wonderful world of Facebook apps! Join us, won't you?
February 6, 2012
When it comes to the pantheon of Hoosier sports heroes - Johnny Wooden, Knute Rockne, Bob Knight, Larry Bird, Reggie Miller, Rick Mount, Bobby Plump, George Gipp - the newest name will certainly be Peyton Manning.
February 6, 2012
You have to be careful what you say these days.
I realize this is a sentiment usually expressed by people who wear colanders on their heads in order to keep the CIA from reading their thoughts. That, of course, is just ridiculous. The CIA does not read people's brain waves. Queen Elizabeth does.
February 3, 2012
Mitt Romney summoned all the righteous indignation he could muster after a Newt Gingrich ad called him "anti-immigrant." Romney blasted the ad shortly afterward in an interview: "It's just inappropriate."
February 3, 2012
The city where I hang my shingle, or would if I did something shingleworthy, is all abuzz with excitement over the SuperDuper Bowl, which is coming to town one of these days soon. I forget which.
January 31, 2012
A man once said, "those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it."
January 31, 2012
President Barack Obama is making his re-election about raising the taxes of an Omaha billionaire who is volunteering for the honor.
January 31, 2012
"Have a super day!"
Have you heard anyone say it lately? I'm guessing you have. I'm guessing everyone within a 100-mile radius of Indianapolis has heard it many times over the past month and will probably hear it a zillion times over the next week. I just hope there are no casualties.
January 27, 2012
Rich Lowry and Brian Howey have each had commentaries in the Hendricks County Flyer that were a great PR job for Gov. Mitch Daniels. However, the recent Indiana unemployment drop from 10.5 percent to 9.8 percent was probably the result of the Bush and Obama bailout of GM and Chrysler, discouraged job applicants dropping out of the labor force (100,000 manufacturing jobs were eliminated since Daniels' election and prior to the financial/banking crises in 2008), imported cheap foreign labor (some who are illegal), and the Obama stimulus ($11 million in Hendricks County instead of collecting impact fees on new development) including energy grants and tax cuts for the middle class.
January 27, 2012
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Has Indianapolis done a good job of hosting the Super Bowl?
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