It’s that time of year again. Time for me to start working on the garden. And the first crop every year is always a rock crop. For almost 50 years I’ve picked rocks out of the garden. Fifty years. I’m getting old. Better than the alternative, I suppose. I believe our garden spot may be the rockiest place in Rabun County. I’ve been filling buckets full of gravel and rocks out of that mountaintop since I was four years old. And Daddy did the same thing for several years before that.
I’ve always envied the New Englanders and the beautiful stone walls surrounding their farms. Of course there’s a reason for those stone walls. Generations and generations ago the farmers pulled these rocks from their fields as they broke the new ground. And likely kept pulling rocks for several generations after the ground was first plowed. Those old codgers were resourceful and tenacious; I’ll give them that. The reason I’m jealous? At least they got beautiful stone walls from their efforts. All I get is bucket upon bucket of basically gravel.
My Sweet Wife doesn’t believe me, but I’m trying to be a “glass half full” kind of guy. I really am. The garden is located on top of a ridge with a steep access road, so all of my yearly rock crop gets put in the roadbed to fight the never-ending battle against erosion. So there’s that. And each year there seem to be fewer rocks to pick up. Glass half full… On the downside, I’ve found hundreds of arrowheads in the garden through the decades. Those seem to be getting few and far between. Can’t win them all. At least I don’t have to deal with the freezing winter weather and the spring mud of New England. Here’s to many more years of filling buckets with Georgia rocks. Glass half full. I’m trying, Sweet Wife, I really am.