Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Some Kinds of Help are the Kinds of Help that Some Can do Without

Dad picked up the blade of grass placing it between his thumbs. The shrill whistle startled his small daughter and probably stampeded cattle all over Neff Road. Who needed toys when we had nature.

We rubbed mint between our fingers and inhaled the aroma. We chewed on the end of a weed looking a bit like an old farmer in bibbed overalls looking out over his fields. We picked dandelion greens for mom to add to our evening meal. And, best of all we enjoyed the bounty of the garden.

I was just a little kid when Dad and Gene decided to weed the garden. In looking back, I realize that it seems that no one seemed taught you many things on the farm. No, I think we just absorbed and did the best we could. So on this fine day, the men decided to allow little Pammy to help. My two favorite men were all mine in the garden. A proud moment.

Even the best laid plans seem to go astray when children are involved. To my defense, no one told me what to do. I was just expected to pitch in and help.

I remember the moment clearly. Gene looked down at me and said my name. It wasn't a nice saying of my name. It was more of a "that damn cat" kind of saying of my name. Dad looked down and yelled at me. So what if I was surrounded by small green weeds. I pulled out every one I found. No need to yell!

From that point on, I was never invited to step into the garden to assist in maintenance. I was banished to the house where Mom just chuckled.

Perhaps we children would have stayed out of trouble more if someone would have taught us the rules in the beginning.

So what if I pulled out the row of beans. I didn't like them anyway.

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