An English In Kentucky


















Sunday July 7th 2019Tim Candler9


     A near death experience while weeding the Asparagus in extraordinarily adverse weeding conditions did produce what I guess might be described as a brief glimpse of the past, which did lend credence to the notion that just prior to his end moment a gardener's life does flash before his eyes. Personally I'd rather it was the good memories that did the flashing, and I guess it might be worth preparing in advance for that awesome moment when the great Zucchini in the sky calls home a faithful servant, just hope the Highest of Beings hasn't noticed the quantity of perfectly good Zucchini which have over the years found their way into the Compost, and at the same time it's perfectly possible that the Supreme Intelligence having been blessed by a membership in eternity might have over the eons blimped up into an amorphous vastness that's turned he, she or it a great deal less than diligent in the area of note taking and remembering where a pencil might be.  Either way, my advice to fellow elderly gardeners, when feeling a little peaky or poorly hydrated don't risk weeding the Asparagus because clearly the Hugeness has a low opinion of Asparagus and he, she or it brings out the worst flashes of memory in an unfortunate gardener teetering on the brink of surrender anywhere near Asparagus, especially in the swamp of July.  



      So the question really is, if not in the Asparagus where might the Wonderfulness grant a supplicant a pleasant memory of two in those final seconds. There is in my view an argument that might present the possibility that a Gardner's frame of mind while at his final task might warrant examination. Not saying that there's a choice in this matter, but pretty please, and humbly beseeching here, don't let it be the Lettuce, I'd hate to see that in the obituary. "He shuffled off weeding the Lettuce," can you think of anything less inspirational for future generations of gardeners. And here quite why I assume it'll be while weeding that I greet the end time I've no clue. No reason it shouldn't happen when I'm standing up addressing a more sun bonnet and elegant wrist cause, such as tying the Tomato, or training the Cucumber, rather than grunting around on hands and knees, trowel, bucket and enthusiastic Kitten in tow. Should I happen to be watering, just hope to goodness I've the presence of mind to turn off the hose wand, hate to compound the possible damage that might result from carelessly toppling onto something and then in my absence drown it. And too there could well be some who might consider these thoughts morbid, to the contrary. It's time spent in reconnaissance my friend. Damn good chance atop the throne of the Great Totality sits a Bean Beetle, and everyone knows Bean Beetles never, ever forgot. Not even the slightest insult, let alone an entire generation of Bean Beetle grubs while still peacefully feeding on Bean plants being carefully popped into black plastic bags and left to cook slowly in the sun. 


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