Saturday, March 08, 2014

A thing I’ve been resisting, and not always with success, is getting involved with the churches of the village.

Getting involved with them, in a country setting, leads one into another type of marriage with all the attendant “Honey Do” and volunteer jobs. There is always free work to be done and always someone to conceive of “more, better” ways of doing things.

Last year someone decided (the ministers wife) that a church garden would be a good thing and someone else thought that a large garden allowing anyone that would volunteer could pick the fruits (as it were) of the garden. Someone else talked the Co-Op into supplying the seeds free of charge.

So the ministers wife would have a church garden outside the kitchen door (which, really, is a good thing I suppose) and she would plant whatever, leaving room in the large garden for others to plant their desires.

There was an asp in the plans for the volunteer garden near Eden, however. They didn’t know how they were to till the hard packed soil of the church ground near the rectory.

Until Renters wife thought of me. And my roto-tiller and tractor. So Renters wife showed up on my back door just an hour after I’d dismounted my tiller in favor of a lawn mower. She proposed, I evaded. She insisted, I lied

The up shot was she left and got another person to cut the garden with his tiller.

This year the minister called me direct to break soil for his wife’s plantings. I told him it’d take some days (not wanting to bother taking the mower from the tractor that I’d left there all winter), but he persisted, I gave in and called Renter, explained minister’s desires, and Renter showed up twenty minutes later and two hours later we had re-configured the tractor with the tiller.

This morning, early, I tilled the ministers garden and was home by nine a.m.. By one-thirty p.m. the tilled garden lay under an inch of snow which was over a half inch of ice.

I regret to say that purgatory is not warm.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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2 Responses to Saturday, March 08, 2014

  1. Spot says:

    Who plants in March? Early March. I understand the desire to be left alone when persistence wears.

    • tenwhiskey says:

      I’ve never been able to answer that question, Spot. There seems to be three people here in the village in some sort of competition. They all want an early tilling, in spite of the advise against it.

      One even went as far as not planting at all one year, just having me till a really large plot twice.

      It isn’t wishing to be left alone – not entirely. It’s about once the church gets one to do something for them, then it’s the homeless need a hand, the old lady down the road, we’d sure appreciate two of your many chickens, how about . . . you get the picture.

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