A Hoe is a Hoe,
A hoe is a hoe, that’s what most people say,
But ‘my’ hoe got broken, just the other day,
My grand-daughter borrowed it,[she didn’t ask me],
Now the handle is broken, causing me perplexity,
She bought a brand new handle, but it won’t be the same,
A handle’s not a handle, that’s what I will proclaim,
That hoe once belonged, to my mother-in-law,
She cleaned it up and oiled it, every fall,
Then one day she passed it, along to me,
I think the handle had been carved, from a Hickory tree,
It was smooth as velvet, from all the years of use,
Shaped slender for a Lady’s hand, not made for such abuse,
I’m trying to be kind, and behave graciously,
Cause my darling grand-daughter, means quite a lot to me,
I’ll have to break it in, try to form it to my hand,
But a hoe’s not just a hoe, now I hope you can understand…
The Simple Country Farmer,
Down the road, a piece,
there lived, a man and his wife,
Farming, was his profession,
and he’d done so, all his life.
He was the son, of a farmer,
who was the son, of one too.
He’d had choices in life,
but farming’s, what he chose, to do.
He bought the land, that joined his fathers,
and wed, his sweetheart.
They spent, their lives together,
and were seldom apart.
Every year I watched them tend,
the same piece of land.
They would raise a lovely garden
without a helping hand.
They would plant it, and tend it,
and gather it all in,
They raised more than enough,
and gave the excess to friends.
He in his straw hat
with mud boots up to his knees.
Her in a cotton dress,
that gently waved in the breeze.
They would faithfully tend to their garden
side by side.
The simple country farmer,
and his sweet little bride.
I’d watch them and marvel
at their gardening abilities.
And I wondered why my garden,
didn’t do the same for me.
Well I had clumps as big as melons,
I would still try to hoe.
I’d water, weed, and feed it,
but my garden didn’t grow.
After one or two years I thought,
I may as well give up.
That’s when the simple country farmer,
taught this simple country ‘pup.’
He said, “A lot of it Sis,
is in the soils preparation.
Then another large part,
is in your hearts determination.
You put your heart into the soil
and it will give it’s heart to you.
It takes time ,for hearts to grow
more than just a year or two.
I listened and I tried it,
and much to my delight,
my garden responded,
and it’s such a lovely sight.
It takes love, to tend a garden
or the soil of a heart.
And a heart that is determined,
is the first place to start.
It was a have-to case for so many years,
just to feed the family.
That I hung up my gloves for a long time
and rested my poor knees.
But it gets in your blood and you miss it,
when you’ve given it up for a while.
The first smell of the earth as we turned it
caused my lips to smile.
Then there was fertilizing,
and marking out of the rows.
And planning what go’s where is important
just as every gardener knows.
The corn must go in two by two
cucumbers need room to vine
Marigolds keep the bugs away,
at least they do, in mine.
Potatoes must have lot’s of room,
so they can then be hilled.
The hoe must tend to every row
for the larder to be filled.
Tomatoes must be tied up
so the sun can touch the fruit.
Beans like a little lime applied,
but they still will make you ‘toot.’
The strangest tale I’ve yet to hear
an old woman recounted to me.
Concerning sweet green peppers,
and how to plant them properly.
She looked up at me with a toothless grin
said, ” For peppers to bear fruit miss,
you must plant them real close together,
’cause see ‘sweet’ peppers just love to kiss.”