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He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

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One of the Fallen on the Battlefield

I suppose the story could have gone something like this:

Bailiff:  State your name please.

Curtis Christiansen.

Bailiff:  Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I Do.

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is it true you like to garden?

Yes that is true.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have referred to animals in your gardens as “the enemy?”

Yes I have.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have admitted that those animals in your gardens have made you angry, “Pissed” I believe was how you put it?

Yes that Is true.

"The Glove"
“The Glove”

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is this your garden glove?

I am not sure.

Prosecutor:  Would you mind trying on this glove for the court please, to be sure?

Maybe…if it doesn’t fit do you acquit?

Prosecutor:  Nice try Mr. Christiansen but that never works!  And can you tell me what you found in your gardens  when you came home from work on the Tuesday of the incident in question?

Yes sir, most of our Beefsteak, Roma, and Big Boy tomatoes were gone, and all of our peppers including most of the pepper plants entirely.

Prosecutor:  And how did you feel after you found your tomatoes and peppers had been decimated.

I was pissed

Prosecutor: I am sure you were Mr. Christiansen, “pissed” enough to commit murder?

I did not, could not, and would not have committed this crime. 

I have made my mistakes.

I am not a crook.

Prosecutor:  Okay Mr. Christiansen what did you do then?

My wife and I went to Home Depot to buy some Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray.

Prosecutor:  And didn’t your route home take you on the same road as the incident in question at about the time the crime was committed?

Maybe

The Victim
The Victim

Prosecutor:  Do you recognize this animal, this dead animal?

No, he is not dead, he is resting.

Prosecutor:  He is dead!  And isn’t it true Mr. Christiansen that your vehicle suffered front end damage that evening?

I…did not have…vehicular relations…with that animal!

These allegations are totally false!

Prosecutor: Mr. Christiansen I would like to propose that on said evening after finding your tomatoes and peppers missing that you were very angry… “Pissed,” to use your word.

And in that rage of anger you carried out this dastardly crime murdering this helpless animal.  An animal you previously referred to as “The Enemy.”

Isn’t that what happened Mr. Christiansen?

Okay, okay!

Of all the vegetable gardens in the world, she had to walk into mine.

You got me, yeah I did it, see….

Those dirty rats!

They got my vegetables and I got one of them.

And I would do it again see…those dirty rats!

Prosecutor: Your Honor the prosecution rests.

 

Yeah, I suppose it could have happened like that.

Footnote:

On Tuesday evening we drove to the Home Depot where we purchased a gallon of Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray because we thought deer had wiped out a good portion of our garden.  On the way home a deer jumped out in front my vehicle and I hit it.

I am not without remorse for plagiarizing, misquoting, referring to tomatoes and peppers as vegetables, or killing this animal; but not only did deer rob us of most of our tomatoes and peppers and pepper plants, the one I hit cost me my $250 deductible!

Needless to say, I am “pissed.”

 

The Gardener

The Gardener

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squirrel

They are out there…

I know they are…

The Enemy.

I’ve seen them.  I hear some of them chattering and chirping and making their plans in the early morning as the sun rises.

Sometimes I see them in the trees or hiding in the woods.  Sometimes I have seen them reconnoitering in the yard.

Some are large with antlers and spots.  Some are small with long furry tails and leap from tree to tree.  Some have wings and fly.

I am The Gardener.

They are The Enemy.

 

But I wasn’t always The Gardener.

I hated dirt and digging the holes that went with working in the gardens.  My wife however, The Farm Girl, loved to garden.

And since she was The Farm Girl aka The Master Gardener (and because she was my wife), I of course became The Laborer.

And for a time this only served to fuel my hatred and my animosity for gardening.  Hey, I had a schedule of projects that needed to get done on the weekends as well, but because she was The Master Gardener (and because she was my wife), and I was The Laborer, I had to continually put my projects on hold to help her:

“Honey, can you dig this hole for me?”

“Honey can you carry that large shrub, the one in that big pot, over here so I can plant it?  And while you’re here can you just lift it out of the pot and put it in this hole you just dug please?”

“Honey can you bring that bag of dirt over here and put some around this plant that you just put in the hole that you just dug?

“Oh and honey, I need more dirt.  Can you please go to the store and get me more dirt?”

One summer I made so many trips to the store to buy dirt, I even wrote the lyrics to a song about a guy who made so many trips to the hardware store to buy dirt for his wife, that he ended up falling in love and running off with the girl at the check-out.

But that didn’t happen to me.  I never found anyone at my local Home Depot that stirred that kind of emotion.

But I did at home.  And since my wife has always been much smarter than me and always an inspiration, she knew that eventually the juices would be flowing not for the girl at the register in the Garden Section of the Home Depot, but for the Garden Section itself.

You see, gardening is like art.  It can be very creatively challenging and rewarding.  And she knew that was the hook for me.

And that brings me back to the critters:

The Seed Outlaws.

The Hosta Chompers.

The Enemy!

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a particularly long weekend re-designing the Koi pond and working in the gardens. I meticulously planted seeds (which I have never done before) in strategically ideal locations that would add a certain effect once the seeds sprouted, broke through the ground, and flowered; some laying their vines along the fences and trellises; others playing the part of the background chorus for what I envisioned as a symphony of color, in support of those that perennially awaken each new season.

So I watered.

And I waited.

And I watered some more.

And I watched.

As I watched and made my daily evening patrols to check the progress, I started seeing the holes where my seeds were once strategically nesting and the scratch marks on my freshly laid garden soil.  In addition, some of my returning lilies were missing their tops. One evening while on patrol, I startled a pair of doves pecking at my mixed flower seeds, the cowards flew away as I approached.

I was pissed.

Then last night it really got serious.  They called in Air Support.

Under a severe thunder storm warning, the rain that added four inches of water to my Koi pond, washed away much of my new dirt and the seeds I had carefully planted and had been patiently watching and waiting on.   Along with the large amounts of grass seed I had spread on Sunday, they now lay exposed to The Seed Outlaws; or germinating in my neighbor’s yard.

Those that had sprouted now had roots exposed and were leaning limply from the trauma of the storm.

It was carnage garden style.

Oh the angst of being The Gardener!

 

Okay I know, I know, I need counseling.

But I feel better.

I know, it’s a freaking garden, they’re squirrels,  and I need to get over it!

I should go have a beer, take my angst and go write something, I can throw some more dirt and seeds down tomorrow.

Okay then.

Thank you.