Planting the Garden, Just in Time

 

We planted the garden this weekend.  My red Ford tractor tried to foil our plans by stopping in the barn lot and stubbornly refusing to start again, but it did not count on the kindness of a neighbor, who stopped by and used his more cooperative blue Ford tractor to till up the ground.  We’ve always had red tractors on our farm, starting as far back as I can remember.  Even when green John Deere became the preferred brand, our family stayed loyal to the Ford.  Lately I’ve been wondering if that loyalty has been misguided.

I had already visited my favorite greenhouse and brought home an armload of tomato, pepper, okra and squash plants and my cousin, who is the main gardener now, brought corn and bean seed that afternoon and we wasted no time getting the planting underway.  The weather forecast mentioned rain for the weekend. 

On Sunday afternoon, I gave up on the rain and watered the tomatoes and peppers.  On Monday, my cousin brought more seed and it became a race against time to get them sown and covered.  We could see the sky darkening in the southwest and the radar showed a line of thunderstorms a few miles away.  As they left for home, I hurried to the barn to feed the horses, then poured a glass of wine and made myself comfortable in the porch swing.  The dogs sprawled across the porch and waited with me.  They scoff at the idea of being afraid of storms.

The distant darkness turned into menacing  clouds and I heard low mutterings of thunder, first from the west then to the north and east.  For a few minutes I thought the storm was going to go around us and I was going to have to water the tomatoes after all.  Then the trees began to dance and a few streaks of lightning flashed their warning.  Scout and Sophie decided to make a last patrol of the pasture, and I noticed that the horses had stopped grazing and turned their rumps to the wind.  Now I could smell the rain, just across the river that bounds my farm on the west.  A hummingbird arrived for a last-minute drink before taking cover in the crabapple tree.  The bluebirds were already hunkered down in their house.

The dogs returned to the yard just about the time the first fat drops of rain hit the tin roof.  Sophie took her spot on the edge of the porch, while Bear remained under the swing.  Scout had to be called to the porch – he seems to enjoy being out in the rain.  The thunder’s muttering turned to a roar and the patter of rain became a downpour. 

I am thankful my dogs are not afraid of storms.  I’ve only ever had one dog who was terrified of gunshots and thunder, and he crashed through the screen door into the house once when a storm came up.  Of course, he's also the dog who jumped the fence into the side yard one bright summer day when I unexpectedly encountered a large chicken snake and screamed at the top of my lungs.  It’s a vivid childhood memory and I can still see him grabbing that snake and shaking it.  Rinty (named after television star Rin Tin Tin)  was his name and he was quite the hero, in spite of his aversion to storms.

Almost as quickly as the storm arrived, it was over.  The thunder faded back to a mutter, the rain slackened and stopped, and the birds sang a celebration song.  I walked out to check on the garden, hoping the fragile plants were not flattened.  They stood upright, happy for the water and ready to grow.  The rain came at just the right time.  Now, if I can just get that red tractor to cooperate.