I remember my father digging,
foot on the spade’s top edge
pushing the blade further in,
Grandma twisting her trowel
into the roots of weeds,
breaking their tentacle holds,
and tiny me screaming, running
from a thick gelatinous earthworm –
never to be a gardener!
Written for Quadrille #246 at dVerse: a poem of exactly 44 words excluding title, which must contain some form of the word 'dig'.
Also shared with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #236, where we are invited to be inspired by one of the following quotes by Margaret Atwood, May Sarton, and Rudyard Kipling, respectively:
1. “Gardening is not a rational act.”
2. “A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.”
3. “Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade.”
The above wasn't inspired by any of them, having been written earlier, but seems to be right on theme anyway!
No gardening genes, that's ok, Rosemary
ReplyDeleteMuch love
I try to grow hardy native plants in my garden, needing minimum care – and I pay someone else to come in and tidy it up occasionally. I do like to look at gardens!
DeleteYour quadrille made me smile, Rosemary. My sister ran from worms; I picked them up and chased her!
ReplyDeleteOh, you nasty tease, you! But I'm glad to know I'm not the only big sook.
DeleteLove your write Rosemary, Ma'am! There are lots of movements within. It is alive!
ReplyDeleteHank
Ha, well that worm certainly was.
DeleteYou had me laughing at the end.... earthworms take some time to learn to love... and you need that love being a gardener.
ReplyDeleteIt really seemed like a monster when I was so small.
DeleteHaha! Nice one Rosemary 👏
ReplyDeleteGlad you enjoyed it.
DeleteThat was the young child running way.
ReplyDeleteLife teaches us lessons along the way. We now know caterpillars and earthworms are nature's friends :)
Yes, I do know that now – but I never overcame that initial revulsion enough to wish to put my hands in the dirt.
DeleteHaha! I love your Q, Rosemary. As a kid I loved picking up earthworms and tadpoles. Now I go 'eeks'!
ReplyDeleteI seem to have been a bit abnormal for a kid.
DeleteHa! When I was a kid I liked digging them up and holding them in my palm. Not so much now! You made me smile at your closing lines.
ReplyDeleteEven now, I don't think I would like to do that!
Deleteoh that made me laugh.... good one
ReplyDeleteDelighted to have made you laugh!
DeleteLOL .. me too...no creepies and crawlies, please. And I was inspired to go write a quadrille for today's NaPo prompt! That's the second form I've got from you this month!!! Thank you!
ReplyDeleteI find quadrilles are quite addictive too.
DeleteHaha! Great poem, Rosemary! I never had an issue with the worms, but I hated getting dirt on me. Lol!
ReplyDeleteYvette M Calleiro :-)
http://yvettemcalleiro.blogspot.com
Yes, that's not very appealing either, lol.
DeleteThis made me smile, Rosemary. You painted such a vivid portrait. I love gardens, but I am not a gardener. But my parents weren't either.
ReplyDeleteWell, some of us have to enjoy gardens as spectators, don't we?
DeleteSweetly remembered scene, Rosemary, especially the perils of encountering a "thick gelatinous earthworm"! 🙂
ReplyDeleteOh no, that worm was not sweet!
DeleteI really felt that spade slicing in, it's something I do a lot of, and I felt that trowel too, an embodied read for me Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteOh, great! I'm really glad to know you got it so viscerally. I could see and hear them so clearly as I wrote and remembered: the clean slicing of the spade and the grab and pull of the trowel. But not enough words to describe every detail, so it's good to know I selected the right ones. Happy gardening to you!
DeleteThis reminded me of Ted Hughes' poem about watching his father dig turf - I guess some of us only have the gift of observing all the hard work and running from the worms! Jae
ReplyDeleteI believe it's a Seamus Heaney poem you're thinking of – and it's a beauty! Now, by citing that, you have reminded me of what the psychiatrist in Erica Jong's 'Fear of Flying;' says to the main character: 'You're a poet. You don't have to be a cook as well.' (Or something like that.) We probably do have to cook, and some people need to garden too (I need to pay someone else to confront the slugs) – but at least we are not required to excel at those other occupations.
DeleteLoved your poem and its snippets of childhood — the imagery is so wonderfully vivid and alive.
ReplyDeleteThanks, glad you enjoyed it.
DeleteOh, hortiphobia! What a terrible ailment!
ReplyDeleteOh, that made me giggle. Great word-coining!
DeleteGardening is a tough job. Your quadrille is inspiring
ReplyDeleteThank you. (The finale of the poem is a slight exaggeration. I have been known to do a bit of pruning, weeding and watering, though certainly not any serious gardening.)
DeleteI love it when you share poems that tickle my fancy .. trigger so many wonderful memories of gardening with my Grandma.
ReplyDeleteOh, delighted to have given you that pleasure!
DeleteYou didn't fish when little or you'd be saving the worms in a jar.
ReplyDeleteWe lived in the country but didn't fish either.
ReplyDeleteTrue. I didn't fish until I was in my teens. And those worms were an ordinary size, not gigantic.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Rosemary. Made me laugh. We are not always like our parents.
ReplyDeleteNot in every respect, anyway.
Delete