To garden is to act – in the hope of things to come

Potter Brown, resting in his hammock after a bit of gardening, probably 1930s.
Potter Brown was the youngest son of Joshua and Sarah Brown, the founders of Kerrville.
Click on any image to enlarge.

This past Wednesday afternoon, when the sun was warm and bright, I went to visit my long-time friend Trena Cullins at the Plant Haus 2. The gardening store was busy, but people were being careful to leave space between themselves and others, following the “New Normal” rules in the midst of this pandemic.

Sunflowers, ca 1940s,
photo by Starr Bryden

The local news was particularly bleak Wednesday, as reports of the virus finally finding its way here were published that morning. All across town people stopped and said a prayer for that first person here who tested positive, hoping their case is mild and they are restored to health soon.
The national news that day was also difficult, though each day has been difficult. I find myself frequently refreshing the news website open on my computer; it takes a focused effort to quit clicking that darned button. With each new story, it seems, comes a new layer of dread. And then I refresh the page, again.
Like you, though, I’ve noticed most of the earth has not read the news. The weeds grow tall in my yard, oblivious to the pandemic. Birds visit our feeders, unaware of my anxiety. Our dog sits with us in the backyard, happy to hang out with us, as we recline and share the stories of our day.
I may not know what the next few weeks may hold, but I do know it’s time to plant my garden. The season wobbles forward, the ground urges me to scrape away weeds, turn the soil, get dirt under my nails, and carefully place plants in neat rows, just as I have done every year, right at this time. To garden is to act – in the hope of things to come.

L. A. Mosty display, 1914,
West Texas Fair

I was not alone Wednesday. Those of us milling around the tables of plants at the Plant Haus were seeing the future in each plant – how it would grow to yield something we value – how caring for it might be a balm for our concerns about tomorrow.
My kind sister made the first plant run a week earlier, buying tomatoes and peppers. She even bought a packet of Silver Queen corn for me to plant.
Silver Queen corn is a beautiful plant, and it produces beautiful ears of pale corn. The very first year I planted Silver Queen it produced beautifully. We had so many ears of corn we were giving away our extra, with instructions to put a pot of water on the stove to boil before we picked the corn, rushing the freshly-cut ears from our house to theirs before the sugars had a chance to convert to starch.
That crop was beginner’s luck, of course.

From my garden, 2018

The very next year the crop was flattened by high winds. A later year saw the stalks fail because the ground was too wet. Other years it was too hot, or too dry, or too something else. One year the garden was too acidic.
Silver Queen tried to break this old gardener’s heart, but I kept coming back, planting it again and again.
Trena Cullins patiently offered advice, various potions for the soil, and hints of all kinds. The fault with Silver Queen was, of course, my own. Yet I was too stubborn to quit.
And then, last year, the few stalks of Silver Queen I planted were beautiful and abundant. I had been timid in the number of seeds I planted, and so our crop was paltry. I suppose I’d predicted failure for the Silver Queen in my heart, and had not wished to devote a lot of space to her.
What I love best from our garden are tomatoes, small cherry tomatoes you can pop in your mouth as you pick, tomatoes warm from the sunshine, dusty from rain and dirt, bright red and flavorful. Sometimes I eat more during picking than I bring inside to Ms. Carolyn, though I think she knows. Next to tomatoes, I love peppers, though I tire of them just as they really start to produce.
What about Silver Queen corn, you might ask? I can’t eat corn because of a silly allergy, and so I’ve never tasted a single kernel. I plant it for the beauty it brings to our small kitchen garden, and for the happiness it brings others. And because I’m very stubborn.
Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who has a contest each year with a co-worker, racing to produce the first tomato. She’s well ahead of me this year. This column originally appeared in the Kerrville Daily Times April 4, 2020.

Two Kerr County history books available, filled with historic photographs of Kerr County.  Both books are available at Wolfmueller's Books, Herring Printing Company, and online by clicking HERE.

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