Dear God, give me the strength to grow a garden.

Give me the perseverance to find a portion of dirt in my backyard that's
free from old popsicle sticks and sand toys, out of range of the swingset,
and not used as a tricycle parking lot or a soccer field.

Bestow on me the ability to say names like "Mussaendra luteola" and
"Eustoma grandiflorum" since I am stuck living in a high maintainence
planting zone that seems to be conducive to only unpronounceable flowers.

Give me the courage to face the fact that the crate of bulbs, that took six
weeks to be delivered and three hours of back-breaking labor to plant, can
be dug up in five minutes by a two-year-old with a toy shovel.

Guide me through the backyard over plastic toys, irrigation systems, and
wire mesh to untangle the dog from the watering hose for the fifteenth
time.

Help me accept that everything in my garden is either expensive, high
maintenance, or unpronounceable, and the only thing that looks the same as
it did in the mail order catalog is the dirt.

Grant me patience when my daughter waters all of the bulbs with apple juice
because "they look thirsty".

Give me the strength to remain silent when my husband puts pans of beer
throughout the garden to get rid of the snails.

Comfort me when all of the pans are empty -- and the dog is staggering
around the backyard trying to do the limbo with the low branches on the
apple tree.

And when it rains (and you know it will, God) give me the strength to spend
all afternoon on my knees blowing the moisture off the new sprouts with my
hair dryer so they don't catch "a fatal fungal disease".

In your infinite wisdom, show me how to turn off the automatic drip
irrigation system that has been on since some time in mid March.

Grant me serenity when my son presents me with a bouquet of freshly pulled
daffodils crammed into an old plastic sand bucket -- and the ability to
smile when he tries to replant them.

And if I ask too much God, just give me the foresight to know that, no
matter what I do, by the end of summer the flowers will be run over by
plastic roller-skates, the gardening stakes will be used for goal posts,
and the fertile soil will, once again, be filled with old popsicle sticks
and sand toys --- and it won't bother me one bit.

-- Debbie Farmer    familydaze@home.com

Debbie Farmer is the author of the weekly syndicated column "Family Daze."
You can sign up to be emailed a free monthly family humor column at her
Family Daze website: http://www.familydaze.com
 
 

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