An English In Kentucky


















Sunday May 5th 2013    Tim Candler


    I am one who cannot shake the view that temperate zones will increasingly succumb to drought.  Rain, when we get it, will be irregular but intense and each drop evermore valuable.  Here where I live, we are very well drained due to run-off, rather than sandiness. One classification of our soil type is "Mountview silt loam" and what remains of its top layer is depressingly thin,  much of it cruelly treated following laxness by immediate ancestors who archeology might suggest belonged to 'canned beer bulldozing' culture.  Which is one reason I have spent this digging season deep trenching garden beds to further distress the hardpan, so that rain which does fall to earth and which does begin to flow down hill toward the Gulf of Mexico will find an interruption to its travel and will collect in a pool below ground, a sponge of water, where longer roots might rightfully find a refreshment.  And I really should add the other two reasons for this sometimes bizarre activity.  I found  the process mentally absorbing, as I pictured rectangles of moistness down where the eye doesn't see. Secret Oases, I thought of them, verdant, lush and hosepipe-less. A joy to behold.  A third reason, for a behavior most find peculiar, is tobacco related.  A person who can triple trench, I'd argue, should be permitted the odd cigarette.

    In most parts of the garden over twenty four inches of useful depth to garden beds has been achieved over time, and generally the more impermeable layer surrounding the garden bed begins about eight or nine inches below the grade. The ground then peters into hard and harder and more and more  impermeable layers of  a god knows what that can reach ninety inches before finding solid rock. So the potential for a water storage is pretty much wonderful unless you set off something like a sink hole which could result in a Oneness with Mole and an extraordinarily irate Artist.  But this year, March, April and so far all of May have been "wet" and there is a strong chance that my diligence and planning, my exacerbation of wrist, shin, ankle, knee and wing ailments, my sense of  cooperation with earth, wind and air, have resulted in the Vegetable Garden becoming a soil type some might classify as  "Root Rotting Bog land." Fortunately, through the digging season, I was fairly preoccupied by the impossibility of my ever being considered for Sainthood, and in an act of random, ill considered  disobedience I dug a pagan Long Mound or Barrow for Tomato, and it's this barrow along with a fungicide that might save them if the year insists upon continuing this way.



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