Harmon’s Histories: Jim has a gardening addiction; he’s not alone
Jim Harmon
“They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. So today, right here in this column, I admit it. I am a junkie, an addict. I need help.”
That’s an excerpt from an article I wrote for this space back in 2018.
“Each winter, I commiserate with fellow addicts. We try not to think about it. We try to avoid the mailbox – there’s certain to be something arriving soon that will fan the flames of our dependency. But it’s hard. Once you’ve experienced it, you’re hooked for life.”
“Yes, I admit it. I am a ... gardener!”
These days, as I approach my 80th birthday, I don’t really “garden.” But I do spend much time outdoors trying to maintain my perennial plants.
An 1878 article in the Rocky Mountain Husbandman newspaper explained this addiction we gardeners have.
“Every man, however limited his means, should contrive to have and cultivate a garden. There are three strong reasons for it: Working in a garden is highly conducive to health. The exercise is gentle, it is united with amusement, and by it both the body and the spirits are invigorated. There is something in the odor of the earth that strengthens the whole system.”
The Husbandman was published in Diamond City, Montana, a booming mining town in Broadwater County. In 1878, when the gold ran out, the remaining folks turned to agriculture. Today, there’s hardly a sign that Diamond City ever existed.
“Let the sedentary man take up the pruning knife and spend an hour of the dewy morning among his vines, or the spade, hoe or rake and prepare to work over his asparagus, lettuce or radish beds, and he will thus give tone and vigor to his body and his mind for the severe studies at his desk. The teacher will teach all the better, the minister will preach all the better for the mind exercise which the garden gives.”
I’ve been hooked since childhood, and believe me, it’s easy to fall victim. The bright colors and the scents draw you in.
The Husbandman newspaper rightly asserted, “The garden is a teacher. There Nature is ever at work, producing her most beautiful forms and transformations. No man can witness attentively the germination of the seed, the uprising of the blade, the unfolding of the flower, the maturing of the fruit, without at the same time becoming wiser, nobler, better.”
But the story should have carried a warning label: “THIS UNDERTAKING WILL GIVE YOU PULLED MUSCLES, KNEE AND BACK PAIN, AND A LITANY OF MISERY!”
Worst among the postulations of these plant pushers is the notion that “the garden is a source of profit!”
The writer for the Rocky Mountain Husbandman claimed to know a man “who realized as much from what he sold from his garden of one half acre, as his hard-working brother did from what he sold from his farm of more than one hundred acres.”
Poppycock, I say! Throw in balderdash and hogwash, too. Let me set the record straight.
Sure, it may start with a small investment in seed and a few hand tools. But soon you’ll need a tractor, a tiller, a spreader, carts and other attachments. Why a few of us have even been foolish enough to buy front-end loaders and backhoes!
Don’t fall for it. Keep your fingernails clean!
Vegetables should come from the produce aisle, not your backyard. Ornamental shrubs and flowers should be put in place by a professional, not by the homeowner.
Don’t do what I have done. Don’t follow my example. I’m a broken man, an addict, a junkie.
Please excuse me now. I’m heading outside. I must have my fix.