Each spring I can't wait to start working in my gardens. Forget the veggies; I am strictly a flower gardener. Winter might find me growing ornamental kale but that is the closest that I get to anything that might be served on a plate.
As I begin working the soil in my beds, I use my trowel and sift through the dirt. I break up hard clumps and work in the compost and fertilizer pellets.
When my son was four he wandered over to where I was "playing in the dirt." He often heard me say, "stay out of the dirt," on Sunday mornings or other times that we were dressed up and headed out the door for town. To see me actually down on all fours getting very messy was a thrill to my son.
As I dug through the soil, I found grubs. I always made a point of removing them from the beds and killing them. I explained to my son that these were the enemy of my plants. They could chew the roots and kill the beautiful flowers.
Ah! Now this was a gardening task my son could get into. He decided to become my garden warrior. He would protect me and my flowers from the enemy grubs.
My son had me line the grubs up on the stone edging and he would whack them with his sword /stick, putting and end to my grub/dragon.
After a few blows had been dealt, I asked my boy warrior if he had killed the grubs. He peered intently at the grubs. "Nawww," he drawled, "but they are a lot thinner than they used to be."
Perhaps his stick could be marketed as a dieting plan.