There’ll be hail to pay

By Ryn Gargulinski: CNJ staff writer

H aving your garden
thrashed by a summer
storm is not a pleasant thing. It actually hurts to awake and find a group of ripped roots, a fleet of mashed beets, and torn rows of corn.
Nor is it like suffering the death of a cat, the loss of a lizard, or getting your baby tooth knocked out by a booster chair. The tooth at least grows back.
A garden that’s been shredded by a storm has nary a chance of recovery.
I must admit I was forewarned New Mexico has some of the most magnificent — and brutal — displays of weather this side of Texas. They include tornadoes, fierce whirlwinds and lightening brighter than the neon on Broadway.
But I didn’t honestly think Mother Nature would so cruelly demolish my garden.
I could see if the lawnmower once again accidentally spurted from my hands like the time it plowed toward the concrete walk. Or if the neighbor who ogled the spinach came to snatch a handful armed with machete. Those would be valid reasons for the garden to be destroyed.
But I didn’t think Mother Nature would turn on herself.
If you sit down to ponder the conflicting concepts — in other words, if you have no life — you find the scenario of a storm shredding up a garden neatly fits into the “man versus self” category.
In a cartoon I remember well (perhaps because I drew it) a cute li’l rodent holds up a sign that says “When I grows up I wanna be a cat toy.” The caption reads “masochistic mouse.”
This storm that ruined our garden is something like that.
What upset me most about the whole incident — besides not having spinach for my afternoon salad — was that depressed look on my boyfriend’s face. He donned that mopey look guys get when they have to stop and ask for directions or lose a hand of poker.
After all, he had tilled, seeded, weeded and watered the garden since it was ankle high on a grasshopper. He smoothed and soothed the radishes. He even named the tomato plants — Weesie, short for Louise.
On that fateful morn he said he felt like his heart was ripped out like the roots of the sunflower, his hopes for harvest beaten down like the blooms on the cantaloupe, his soul bent like the stooping stalks. He then mumbled something about Malaki and “Children of the Corn.”
I suppose I should feel worse myself, but I am sort of used to death when it comes to green things. I have been known to kill dandelions — on accident.
It started back in high school when I was forced to do a science experiment using houseplants. I was to test the effects of music on the little green beasts. Thus I set up a plant tray with Beethoven and another with rock ’n’ roll.
Since I had to keep the plants separate, I put the former over by the window sill and stuck the latter in the closet.
My results were dramatic and keen: Things die when they listen to Ozzie Osbourne.
Perhaps we should pipe in some Beethoven to revive our garden.

Ryn Gargulinski writes for Freedom Newspapers of New Mexico. Contact her at:
ryn_gargulinski@link.freedom.com