Once I had A Garden
Once I had a beautiful garden, tended with love and labor that enriched my soul and filled my belly. One summer I added a variety of sugar belle small watermelons. They were hearty climbers and I constructed a trellis to support the fruit as it flourished in the hot sun.
I remember sitting on my patio in the evening shade and watching the fireflies dancing around
the garden like a tiny private fireworks display meant just for me to lift my weary soul with the promise of magic and the guarantee of a profitable harvest yet to come. A guarantee well deserved and earned by the labor of my hands and prayers of my heart.
But it was the melons that enchanted me, first lovely blossoms then grape sized fruits that expanded daily to near bursting, They were fragrant right through the hard shell and I could not wait to pluck them down and split them open to enjoy and share the sweet ripe red flesh within.
Finally, the day arrived; I took my basket to the garden and made my way through the jungle of tomato plants and bean bushes to the trellis bearing my prize. I put my hand up and turned the topmost melon to twist it off the vine, but something was wrong. The melon, while looking perfectly wonderful was far too light. I plucked it down and examined it. The was a hole about the size of a childs fist bored into the bottom of the melon and the entire contents of the fruit had been clawed out. I quickly checked the other melons, but they were all the same a beautiful empty tableau. Only the shells and the outward appearance of bounty remained. They were garbage on the vine. The raccoons had found a way in and stolen the fruit right before my eyes. It is no wonder they are called bandits.
I only recount this story as an allegory for how I felt this Fourth of July holiday as I sat and watched the fireworks on TV. The fireworks swarming in the sky like fireflies, the promise of the sweet juice of Liberty swelling my heart, increasing my appetite. The anticipation of greatness and justice sweet on my tongue as it always is on this most American of Holidays.
On July 5th I went back to actually living in the USA. The fruit is hollow. Garbage on the vine.
You poor thing.
On edit - sorry about the melons. It sucks getting outsmarted by racoons.
It's about how everything around us is in the process of being hollowed out by the banksters.
And how easily the fruits of your labor are snatched away by the killers in the night.
Nice post, Zoonart......
They started in the Garden, then they wanted more and more , I think they want the house too.
(my actually garden, plus my symbolic garden - wife, pets, closest friends, music - the much smaller world I live in) is most of what gives me joy. The more external - the masses, the politics, the state of the country, the anesthetization of the masses by the Teevee) give me little to no joy whatsoever.
Except that I have a lot more love and respect for the raccoon than I do the banksters....the raccoon is just trying to make a living and will take only what will fit in his belly...the bankesters have a lot more than just a living and want more and more.
And welcome to DU.
I have two mounds with 7 or 8 plants, just starting to flower.
They grow along the ground so far, and I've mulched beneath
the vines with wood chips wherever they wander.
But you say you constructed a trellis for them. I'm wondering
now if I should be doing that, rather than letting them grow
along the ground, in case you are an expert on these things.
I've never grown melons or squash or any of these big
viney fruits before. They're going crazy in my garden,
by which I mean, abundant. Any advice is welcome.
Your post was lovely and vivid. When things like that
happen I try to be happy, for example, for the raccoons -- that
they had such a wonderful feast, how much they must
have enjoyed themselves. It's a way of making myself
feel better, learned from the movie Pollyanna.
In the middle of trouble, find something to be glad about.
There's always good, no matter what. Find it.
When I focus solely on the losses & grim prospects,
all the crimes and injustices and terrors, it entirely
fills my field of vision until I no longer want to live.
It's like sitting in a dark room looking at a dead
fish on a beautiful day.
The thing about the watermelons is that more will grow,
next year, the year after. Where they came from, more
can come. It's the same for us.
The good that can power a human life, and change
our world, comes from a bottomless well inside of us, each
and every one of us. Thieves can not steal it. Time can not
spoil it, no more than darkness can extinguish light. The
human spirit can't be eaten stolen or corrupted.. only
Imagine a watermelon vine that keeps growing from the
earth, whenever a seed is planted. No matter how many
times it's eaten, it will grow again and keep on growing.
That's what we have.
We can forget about the garbage, go back to the garden,
don't worry about raccoons, plant more watermelons.
We use different expressions across the Atalantic. What you refer to as the front or back yards in the UK we refer to as gardens.
Some years ago a friend from NC was passing through and he stayed for the weekend. We were sitting in the back garden on the Sunday morning eating breakfast and as he looked around I asked how big his garden was. He smiled and said "I think I know what you're asking - 45 acres"
I asked him at a later date if he'd still got the 45 acres and he said "No - its 90 acres now"