Sunflowers

As Princess Jenna rightly observed in a photo I posted recently, I am growing a row of Mammoth Sunflowers at the end of my corn patch. According to the seed package from W. Atlee Burpee & Co., these large flowers will grow on 12 foot stalks. Jenna gave the seeds to me four years ago, when she moved from Show Low, and I have kept them in the bottom of our refrigerator, waiting for an opportunity to plant them. I know, four years is not very old, compared to the 2000 year old date palm seed, recovered by archaeologists from Masada, which they managed to sprout three years ago. That tree, which they named Methuselah, is now 4 feet high and doing quite well. Once I grew beans, which had descended from 1000 year-old seed found by archaeologists at Mesa Verde. Anyway, I'm off-track as usual. My stream-of-consciousness writing will never win a Pulitzer.

We learned this year that our sweet, little Lesser Goldfinches not only love the bugs that are attracted to our sunflowers, they also enjoy the taste of the lower leaves of the plant. We keep them in thistle seed all year round, for which they are enthusiastic to say the least. I think it is very wise of these beautiful birds to leave the new leaves alone, so that the plant can continue to grow and provide them with many future meals. As an aside, I don't like to let them hear me call them "Lesser" Goldfinches. I wouldn't want them to develop an inferiority complex. They may not be as bright yellow as their showy cousins, the American Goldfinches, but they have wonderful personalities and are quite intelligent. I'm glad they are enjoying the sunflowers.

Full of Beans

As the photos disclose, I am a "has bean." In his southwestern drawl, Mr. Armbrister used to call me his "podner," which always made me feel rather beanish. They are called string beans, though they are really wind instruments, as everyone knows. (Percussion for some, but we will avoid being too clinical here). They are flourishing in a cedar box above ground. Before I added the rich soil, I stapled a sheet of rust-resistant wire mesh at the bottom of the box, intending to frustrate my devious gophers. Now I can stand by the grow-box and imagine I hear the gophers beneath it, banging their heads on the wire mesh and muttering because they can not get to the beans. There's one I've named Captain Kirk because I think I hear it shouting, "Bean me up, Scottie. Bean me up." Out of love for George and Georgie, I pretend that they never venture to my garden. "Cause dey knows I has de hose."

If it grows in a pod, it's good for the bod,

But there are no beans for gophers

For the moron learned a lesson

And put the wire mesh in

The bean is of the genus Phaseolus. If you want a satisfying and happifying experience, try singing that last sentence as if you are in an opera. Well, it works for me. I sing to my beans, and they respond. Songs like "Let it Bean," by the Beatles. (Actually, the name of the band was originally the Beantles, but the nunation was assimilated by the dental ultima, according to basic philological principles). I have noticed that the bean plants at the end of the box, where I normally stand to sing to them, will flower first. This is consistent with the maxim oft-repeated among America's bean growers:

"The closer to the crooner,

To the grocer all the sooner."

I expect a great harvest this year.

CORNRISE!

At the request of the Lovely Hannah Bee, I will begin to post pictures of the Angelo Ercoli Memorial Garden of Eaten. This year, I have planted 15 rows of an early variety of sweet corn. We have a short growing season up here on the mountain. The special heirloom corn seed I ordered, which requires about 100 days to mature, was delivered late, so I was forced to choose a substitute to make up for the lost time. The heirloom seed, Stowell's Evergreen, will wait in the bottom drawer of our refrigerator until next year.

I love the power inherent in corn. It is inspiring to me to see how the Lord has endowed these simple seeds. I rejoice to be able to participate in a small way in the creative process, to reenact a tradition that was instituted in the very beginning by God Himself. To till, plant, tend and dress our gardens is an activity rich in similitudes, designed to teach everlasting principles. It is a process both temporal and eternal. "Behold, we will plant a garden eastward in Eden."

Over 30 years ago, I planted corn on borrowed land in Provo, Utah. The soil tended to clump together there because of the presence of clay. I still remember my delight at the sight of those first corn plants pushing up through the hard soil. There was power in those leaves! I remember one, though, that was bent under a clump of clay, working against the weight of it. I thought I'd do a kind deed and lift the adversity from off the plant, thereby freeing it to grow faster. That was a mistake. I learned a lesson as I observed its progress. The plant that I, in my innocent ignorance, "assisted" by giving it ease at a critical period of growth, was stunted and barren. I believe our personal struggle against the weight of adversity develops a spiritual strength and fruitfulness in us that can not come in any other way.

Here is a view of my backyard corn patch, which is now about one month along.

Dig It

Mikayla brought her rock collection to show me. She has a good eye for beautiful specimens of common stones. She loves geology. I thought it might be fun for her if we conducted an archaeological dig in the backyard. So we built a simple soil sifter from spare lumber and wire mesh, like the ones I made for fossil sieving in days of yore. We chose an empty plot of ground beyond the corn, dug a shovel's worth, dumped it in the sifter and shook out the dirt until only rocks and other things were left. To our surprise and gratitude, we enjoyed immediate success. There were Native American artifacts on the screen! Pieces of corrugated pottery and chipped agate, proof positive that Indians once stood in my backyard. We continued and found more artifacts, together with an old penny and a button. Mikayla said, "Grandpa, this is addictive, because you never know what the next shovel full will have in it." And we never know what the next hour or day will uncover in our lives. We keep digging.