Many years ago, while I was still living in Florida, I made the decision that someday I’d live in one place long enough to grow asparagus. This would entail me leaving the primal heat and seeking a new home somewhere that crisp winters would allow the asparagus crowns to flourish.
A few days ago, I stood in the middle of my asparagus patch and reached down with a pocketknife in hand. I could see the spears piercing the weeds. Little knuckles of deliciousness waiting to be harvested. A life-desire was soon to be lived.
As I plunged forward to cut, my fingers brushed a stinging nettle. The burn was immediate. I gathered my resolve and pushed forward.
Again, the nettles stung me. I withdrew, rubbed my fingers and eyeballed my dilemma.
Apparently, the asparagus wasn’t interested in being harvested without a final negotiation.
I looked up the hill at my little red tractor. A few weeks earlier I’d planned to scrape the garden clean and spread fresh mulch around the patch. The tractor had other ideas. She’d decided to take the spring off from work.
Actually, she’d decided to not work for far longer than that. Since the last snow of March, we’d struck a bargain. If I kept pouring coolant into her radiator, she’d provide one hour of work in exchange for two weeks of rest.
So, there I stood. Nettles stinging my skin. Ants crawling over my hands. A broken tractor watching from the hill.
I leaned down through the nettles and cut the spears anyway.
After brushing off the ants, I’d finally done the thing I’d promised myself years ago. I had a fistful of new-season asparagus—raw and dripping with moisture.
I’d won.
Funny how achieving a goal doesn’t end a story. It usually starts the next one.
The next morning, I ordered a new water pump and pulled the frontend off the tractor.
Checkmate.
Today’s Writing Prompt
Pick something small from your past desires and name it. Not a promotion. Not a dream vacation. A tidbit of life not yet lived. Write about why it still lingers in your mind and what it would mean to finally experience it.
John Wilkerson writes a monthly column for MNN to share his love of journaling. According to John he “works most days writing and fiddling with his computer. His new, old, home in Menomonie is constantly subjected to DIY mayhem. His background includes ghost writing, newspaper reporting, and a stretch in marketing and advertising.” John may be contacted at [email protected]
