By Jim Hagarty
2007
A pretty darned decent thing it was of me to build a vegetable garden box in the back yard for my family to cultivate. At eight feet by 12 feet and 10 inches high, it is a great start: Filled to the brim with nice, loamy soil, just itching to start churning out the tomatoes, peas and carrots.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get the job accomplished till July, long after the ideal garden planting season. So, a brilliant idea occurred to me. Stuffed into bags and boxes in the shed are flower seeds dating back two decades. They accumulate, but never get planted. The new garden was calling to them and as I sorted through them, I plucked out a dozen small packets of marigold seeds. Enough, I assumed, to nicely fill a garden box of the dimensions already described. The seeds are tiny but I spread them as evenly as I could over the soil and then cultivated them in with a rake. All that was left to do was to water them and wait for the glory.
I was soon rewarded. Little green shoots started appearing in all the same spots where seeds had landed. A nice, Ireland-type shade of green. I realized (after I was told) that having planted them this late in the season, it might take some time for them to flower. But I was prepared to be patient.
Summer wore on and the water and heat did their jobs. My marigolds thrived and sprang from the ground so quickly, I could almost hear them growing. Every day, they were another inch taller, sometimes two. Remarkable. And I hadn’t even fertilized them.
Not really knowing what marigolds look like, I eagerly awaited my surprise – the day I awoke to see the first few flowers brightening the yard. What colour would they be? Orange? Yellow? Purple? I had no clue but was ready for anything.
Frankenstein-like, the plants kept shooting up until one day, they were waist high. In another few weeks, they were even with my head. I didn’t know whether or not marigolds would grow to over five feet tall, but if they did, I had a feeling I was witnessing a record-breaking crop. Every square inch of the garden box was filled with them now.
The other day, I remarked to a family member that my flowers would soon be blooming. They might, I was told, but if they did, it would be hard to see them, covered, as they were, by the five-foot-high weeds that had overtaken the box. Why this vital information was not delivered sooner, I am still wondering.
My “marigolds” filled three yard-waste bags on Monday night. My application for Master Gardener status has been rejected.
