Cee returned from her break and has restarted her Fun Foto Challenge. This first week, she has asked us to focus on the color green. In addition to Cee’s challenge, Teagan R. Geneviene gave us an interesting Photo Exercise.
Look at a favorite photo, painting, mural, or other image. Drink in the feelings that it brings to mind. Then write something related to the image.
Teagan R. Geneviene
I decided to combine these two challenges, and the green photo I selected as inspiration is today’s feature photo. As I look at that photo, it strikes me that the bunny might be thinking about the yard in which he/she lives.
As Gardens Grow
Up until I was nine and a half—I think until we became teenagers, we took pride in those halves—we lived in an apartment in a building my paternal grandmother owned. My grandmother, who we called Sita, owned a building with four apartments and a freestanding house on the same plot of land. Behind the separate house, Sita always had a garden. Each spring, she called upon her three nearby grandsons, my brother and me and our older cousin Melvin, to help her create that garden. We turned over the soil, raked out the various beds and helped her plant tomatoes, peppers, carrots, peas, beans, cucumbers eggplant, squash and various spices.
My job was to break up the large lumps—the stage between the pitchfork and the rake. It was easier than working the pitchfork, and less demanding than the rather meticulous requirements my grandmother had for the rake work.
One year, Sita asked our neighbor for permission to plant a small field of corn on his property. He didn’t mind. The space she wanted to use was at the end of his yard, near the creek that ran behind our houses. Turning that plot of land into a functional garden plot was way more work than any of us grandchildren had bargained for. Bargain isn’t the right word—it’s not like we had an option.
I remember trying to use the pitchfork. To get it in the ground, I had to jump on it with both feet, at which point turning it over was impossible. The first row was the worst, and eventually my father did that. From that point, we—we being my older brother and Melvin—could turnover the row beyond the freshly broken ground. My job, breaking those lumps, became much more difficult. Not only were the lumps bigger, the grass had to be cut off and buried below the surface. As I recall, the corn crop was not considered a success and corn was never planted again.
Back to me and my nine and one-half year-old self: that June, my parents bought their first house. Much work was done to get that house in order. The following spring, my father decided to start his own garden. We broke ground for three equal size garden beds. My slightly larger stature allowed me to handle more of the tasks. This allowed me to realize that Sita’s meticulous nature was a genetic gift bestowed upon my father. Bestowed upon and amplified would be a better description.
Around the edge of each plot, he formed a small V-shaped trench. Each side was compacted with the back of a rake. Then, in a process I didn’t understand, my father planted a row of lettuce in that trench. He said it would keep the bunnies out of the garden—they’d eat the lettuce and leave everything else alone. He planted lettuce every couple of weeks, so that there was always something for the bunnies to eat.
The bunnies had lived in the woods behind our house for years before our arrival. There was also a flock of pheasants living in those woods. My father maintained a lawn in front and on the side of our house that could pass for a golf course fairway. But farther off to the side and in the back, weeds of all sorts were allowed to flourish. In addition to the lettuce, the bunnies ate those weeds. He would often sit on our patio as the mother pheasant and her chicks walked through and the bunnies happily munched. I don’t think he was protecting his garden.
We don’t plant lettuce for the bunnies that live in and around our yard, but we don’t do anything to prevent the dandelions and broadleaf weeds from flourishing. Weeds of all sorts grow here. They’re green enough to pass for a lawn, and we keep them and the grass around them at an acceptable height. We don’t cut weeds until they stop flowering. During that time, the bees feed on the blossoms. My father knew that we could coexist with those animals. Some of his neighbors cleared the woods behind their houses just as some of our neighbors have removed mature trees and other habitats.
Watching the bunnies hop around our yard reminds me of my childhood home. It reminds me of the lessons I learned from my father and grandmother. It reminds me that we (humans) aren’t the only inhabitants on the planet.
All five of my current books are now available in audio book form thanks to Amazon KDP’s Virtual Voice process. The voice is AI generated, but I can honestly say, it’s pretty darn good. The audio books are reasonably priced (all below $7 US) and, if you already own the Kindle version and want to add an audio version, you can do that for $1.99. There is a five-minute sample on the book page for each book. If you’re interested, click on any of the Dreamer’s Alliance book links below the image or on the link below for my latest book.
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