I Start Working On My Garden

Now that I’ve figured out where I want to put my garden, I need to prepare the soil. I understand in theory what needs to be done, but I don’t quite know how to do it in practice. So I went to tractor dealership where I bought my tractor to nose around. I spoke with a good old boy behind the service desk, and he said that the first thing I need to do with a virgin field is use a subsoiler to break up the hard pan and uproot the rocks. So now I am the proud owner of a subsoiler attachment for my tractor.

A subsoiler is a large, sturdy crooked steel finger that is dragged behind the tractor and digs 8 to 12 inches into the ground ripping up rocks, roots, and dirt. The object of the exercise is to drag it back and forth until every inch the garden has been rooted up.

Being the over-achiever that I am, I not only go back and forth, but I go sideways and diagonally when I subsoil. I’ve done it every day for the past week. I’m not sure you’re supposed to do it that much, but since it’s the only garden attachment I have for the tractor at present, I’m going to get my money’s worth out of it. I’ve become the Rain Man of subsoiling. As you can imagine, I have subsoiled the hell out of that garden. It looks like a giant hog has rooted though it. I don’t think a cluster bomb could have torn it up more.

Using the subsoiler is not for the faint of heart. It’s okay if you just go back and forth, but when you go sideways over ground you have already torn up it becomes an adventure. Imagine bouncing down the stairs on your ass while simultaneously being shaken violently by a giant. That’s about what it feels to drive a tractor over ground that has been ripped up by a subsoiler. I bounce up and down, jerk back and forth, and get whipsawed in all directions as the tractor lurches over the uneven ground. I look like I’m riding a Brahma bull. I can barely hang on to the wheel and stay in the seat. Now I know why tractors have seatbelts. I feel like a subsoiler should come with a safety helmet, Kevlar body armor, and motion sickness pills.

Thank God I don’t have hemorrhoids, though I may have lost a few fillings and ruptured my spleen. I have to stop every 20 minutes to give my kidneys a rest. When I had back surgery my orthopedic surgeon gave me a list of things I should not do. I’m pretty sure that operating a tractor with a subsoiler was at the top of the list. I think it came right before having a high speed head-on collision and jumping out of a plane without a parachute. I’m telling you, using a subsoiler is brutal.

Walking across ground that has been ripped up by the subsoiler is no fun. The soil is so uneven and torn up that you stumble and stagger across the ridges, furrows, holes, and rocks like a drunken sailor. I must look like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz as I cross the garden. I haven’t had this much trouble walking since my bachelor party. My neighbors across the valley must think I have a drinking problem. Who knew that gardening was so rigorous?

The soil here is rocky, and I have to get the rocks out of the garden to be able to use a rototiller. The subsoiler has turned up so many rocks that I’m worried I’ll end up with a big hole once I get them all removed. I think the rocks may be holding up the soil. The frustrating thing is that after I pick up all the rocks I can find, another pass with the subsoiler turns up just as many. I’ve checked to make sure the rocks I’ve removed aren’t migrating back to the garden. Maybe Meredith is sneaking out at night and throwing them back just to get me out of the house.

Picking up rocks is not good for my back. After an hour or so of rock collecting, it stiffens up, and I hobble around like the plaintiff in a personal injury case. I’d make a good extra on the Walking Dead. Thank goodness for motrin and alcohol.

I started out gathering rocks that were the size of an egg or larger. After several days of collecting rocks, my concern for the rototiller has diminished and my concern over the health of my lower back has increased. Now I only remove a rock if it is big enough to carve Mt. Rushmore on.

Whoever said there is nothing wrong with good hard work probably never did hard work. If it’s so great, how come you never see an ad in the classifieds that says: “Looking for good hard work. Will do it for free.”? The person who said that hard work is good for you needs to pay me a visit so I can set his ass straight. The person who said that working in a garden is relaxing and restful got it half right. What's relaxing and restful is the four motrin and half a bottle of bourbon you have to consume to make the back pain go away.

I’ve developed a lot of respect for the pioneers who first settled this area. Not only did they have to deal with rocky soil to grow their crops, but they had to cut down the trees and pull out the stumps. I read somewhere that early Americans consumed a phenomenal amount of alcohol per person. I think I know why−no motrin.

Now that I’ve subsoiled and assured myself of developing degenerative arthritis, I will move to the next step. I just wish I knew what it is. I think I’m supposed to disc and harrow the field, or maybe it’s plow, harrow and disc, or maybe it’s disc, plow, harrow, and do the hokey pokey. It would help if I knew what the hell those terms meant and in what order they go. I need to talk to that old boy at the dealership again. I’m sure there is something else he would like to sell me that will be good for the garden and bad for my health. I just want to get in one good crop before I’m in a wheelchair.