Since the first week of March, he has stood there.
Cool winds, a tiny bit of rain, the sunshine getting brighter and longer in its days, and he stood there.
The wind blew April in, his hair and overalls responded, his legs they waved, his pole was sometimes there to keep him straight, but mostly he just grinned.
May and June snuck in, and green oceans of squash lay in front of him, cucumbers tried their very best to raise from the ground, but each beating heart turned them bitter, to brown leaves, to leaves that curled and died.
The squash fell to the sides, all four plants that traced the width of the garden felt the summer come on strong, curled their leaves and left them riding in the dust, just weakened plants. They had fought the fight, but died.
July and August set the terrific storm of no wind, no rain, scorched earth, tomatoes that would not make, and the only thing left was okra, pulling its pants up, shunning the heat, it's broad pointed leaves wiring their way around the heat, scratching his back and growing taller and taller, and taller.
A bunch a day were picked through August, September, and now October, it's arms growing higher than can be reached, it's greeness spreading, it height unyielding, it's production a mysterious goldmine of treasure.
Now, forward to the end, it still produces, his hand is still waving, his smile still smiling, the birds still flying, and okra still fills the bucket, as a few drops of rain make their way to the garden soil.
Oh springtime friend who has mocked the boiling heat, crossed the paths of those trying to live in a dying garden, and stood there with a grin on your face, you've stood with your ground to face the sun, and laughed away the thoughts of each bad day.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
The Backyard Garden
Claremore, Oklahoma
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