Rite of spring

The rite of spring. My father has developed, one rock extraction and one hacked weed at a time, a very long and very skinny parcel of land along the railroad tracks behind my house. It's March and he's already gearing up to win the woodchuck war this year, as evidenced by the posts and chicken wire rolls I see floating past my kitchen window toward the back yard.

The other war he will have to contend with, not to put it too severely, is with his wife. My mother will point out to him regularly the crass mathematics of the venture --- comparing receipts for posts, fencing, quick-dry cement, seeds, peat moss starter cups, 5-10-5 fertilizer, gloves (a couple pair per summer), and of course lots of water, with the estimated value of the harvest of tomatoes, cukes, beans, lettuce, broccoli, and eggplant.

She tells me every year she figures each tomato costs about $5. Not to mention that he gives most of them away to the neighbors --- and, by late August, to anyone who won't throw them back.

As my Dad will be ready for his furry Moby Dick, I will be ready for my Mom. This is because it just occurred to me that there is a different way to look at the garden than as financial asymmetry. I mean, my father doesn't drink, smoke, or gamble. If he did, these pastimes would cost money. So perhaps we can all have some peace around here this summer by calling his operation a moderately expensive hobby. It's all the way you look at things. "Seek peace and pursue it" (Proverbs 34:14).