My veggie garden is one of the few domestic things that I do
well, and enjoy. Between my day job and my writing, I don’t have a lot of time
for any extra’s. But I make time for our veggie garden because what it produces
not only fills our bellies with healthy, tasty food; it gives me a sense of
accomplishment. Starting the seeds way back in early March, sometimes even late
February, I tend to them, watering and keeping the weeds under control.
Most of the seeds take some time to get going, but by May we
start to eat out of the garden. Radishes, peas, beans and sometimes even some
early lettuce is the start of our summer garden fresh eating.
My husband has cows. Young, naughty, “teenage” cows. More on
this later.
With the garden in full swing last week, I was excited. We
had family coming and the veggies were ready to be eaten. Corn, carrots,
raspberries, strawberries, boysenberries and onions; green and jalapeño peppers,
cucumbers and tomatoes were on the cusp of perfection.
Did I mention that my husband has cows?
The DAY before our guests arrived, I got up early, fed and
watered the livestock and stumbled back towards the house in a half awake daze.
So it’s perfectly understandable that my initial reaction to my decimated
garden was one of complete and utter shock. It looked as though a tornado had
ripped through, stealing all my veggies and tearing everything up.
The cows had broken into my garden overnight and stripped it
bare. Not only had they eaten everything to the quick, they had actually
climbed into my waist high raised beds leaving their footprints as evidence to
their heinous crimes. Bent signs and a ripped fence with a tuft of black fur on
it was all they’d left behind. Not a single, edible piece of anything was left
for us. The little buggers had even cleaned out my compost pile which had some
volunteer veggies in it.
Once I’d woken my husband up (nicely of course, after all,
it was his cows) and he’d patched up the hole, I threw in the towel as far as
my garden went. For the next week and a half while the company visited, I didn’t
touch my garden. No water, no weed picking. After all, it was completely ripped
apart, eaten, trampled and empty of anything left. It was done and so was I.
Then last night, I decided to take a peek in the garden, why
I don’t know.
One string of cucumbers had survived, the corn that had been
bent, broken and stripped of all its leaves where it wasn’t pulled out, was
making an attempt to grow. I grabbed my
hose, watered and pulled weeds, astounded at what I was finding. Everything was
still fighting to live.
What has this got to do with anything besides cows and
gardens?
Well, just this. No matter how many times the “cows” trample
our “gardens” as long as we are still fighting to grow, to feed that which is
important to us, there is no such thing as a loss. I may not get all the
veggies I’d hoped for, but next year will be better. I’ll build a better fence,
and learn from the mistakes of this year. Which will make next year’s garden
only bigger; with nicer veggies, and more to share with others.
It’s the same with life, writing, art or whatever it is that
seems to be a struggle for us. As long as when the “cows” come in and trample
all our precious seeds and starts we buckle down, learn the lesson we needed to
learn and continue on, next year will be better.
And if not, I only have one other solution.
Eat the cows.
