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,