A Garden in the Shade (that damn tree in my backyard!)

I once again have an itch to plant one of those amazing gardens that produce the kinds of rewards worthy of feeding kings. The problem with that is my most recent garden didn't seem to produce much at all. Some people, in last ditch attemps to make me feel better, swore up and down that it was most likely due to the use of bad seeds. I, on the other hand, know exactly what the problem was. The problem began years ago in two places about an hour from each other. One was at house in Robinsdale, Minnesota and the other was at a cabin next to Bass Lake in Webster, Wisconsin. Both places just so happen to be owned by my grandparents.

My grandfather was quite an avid gardener according to the way I recollect things. I can recall helping him dig potatoes, load squash into the wheel borrow, pick beans off the vines, and praying to God that my scorched mouth would cease to burn after I so foolishly came to the belief that jalapeno peppers weren't really all that hot. I can also remember that in the back of the laundry room, which was located in the basement of the their house in Robinsdale, were shelves lined with jars of canned tomatoes, pickle relish, sweet pickles, dill pickles, and hot pickles that gave people a similar sensation to the one I described a moment ago. It was the time I spent in the gardens with my grandfather that gave me the basic knowledge that I needed to one day grow up, turn the soil, fertilize it, sow seed, and harvest the bounty of my labors. You may be asking what was it about all of those experiences that would eventually cause my own garden to be a complete and utter failure. The answer is it all took place in the mild climates of Wisconsin and Minnesota.

My garden lived very briefly and perished in a very self-effacing fashion in the heat magnet of a state we call Florida. The wonderful Florida sun does things to vegetable plants not unlike toast in a toaster that was set at the number five setting. Is the number five setting on the toaster really necessary? It burns everything and leaves you a brick of carbon on which to spread some butter and Jam. There goes that A.D.D thing I was talking about in my first post. Where was I? Oh yes, the wonderful Florida sun. You see, when they collect and package these little seeds they print on the packages words like, "plant in direct sunlight." Nowhere on these packages does it say anything about the magnifying glass that sits just above Florida waiting to burn the plants these seeds are about to become till they are a dull brown colored crunchy substance that disintegrates in to dust when you touch them. There you have it, nearly thirty years of gardening experience thrown into the furnace and reduced to ash because I decided to plant my garden in Florida.

I was left with a number of deceased plants that resembled a cluster of dried up sticks. I decided that I would toss these sticks into the compost pile I had prepared in a very large planter I had built in the backyard. I had never used this planter because of the overgrown ogre of an oak tree that casts its shade over ninety-eight percent of everything that exists back there. It was because of this shade the conditions were perfect for rot making it a perfect place for composting the few blades of grass that grew enough for trimming, the leaves and acorns that hurled themselves down to become an eyesore on the ground, and my garden that was so maliciously killed. For months I stared at the empty trellises out front eventually giving up on the desire to encourage plant growth. Although I cannot recall the exact day I can recall the feeling of utter confusion when I, on a rare occasion, decided to clean up the back yard and seen a cucumber plant extending its self out of the planter that was serving as a containment field for my compost pile. Its bright yellow flowers bellowed out and shinning like stars draped over a green leafy background. I couldn't believe it. In the two percent of my back yard that escaped the clutches of the shade cast down from that monstrosity of an oak tree there grew a beautiful vegetable plant. There was no way I could remove the tree and even if I did I would end up with another dead garden. Then it dawned on me. I knew right then the solution to my gardening enigma; I should grow turnips and beets.