Big Daddy

When I was a teenager, the local museum opened a new wing dedicated to modern art. I recall going with my parents to explore the modern architectural design featuring the type of art that just made my father shake his head in bewilderment as my mother proceeded to nod, ponder, and utter, “Now isn’t that interesting?”

One painting in particular struck me.  I knew Jackson Pollock, which means I knew enough to say, “Hey, that’s like Jackson Pollock!” The piece featured lots of splotches in a cacophony of dripping strings of paint.  But that’s not what struck me.  I felt sort of ho hum about the apparent flinging of loaded paint brushes (like, who hasn’t done that?), but experienced deep and honored respect for the title: The space between my head and the alarm clock.

Modern art: now I get it.

And art imitates life.  Our context may change, but the buzzing doesn’t stop.  Just the other day my family stood with reverence as we said goodbye to our beloved pigs, Piggins and Piglididee, who were crated and loaded on a farm trailer to be driven off by their new owners.  Ending our time on the farm (wanna buy a farm in central Va.?  I know of a GREAT one for sale!), we are divesting ourselves of our livestock. P&P are now ensconced lovingly in their new home befriended by goats, chickens, one of our donkeys, and more importantly, a 4 y.o. boy and a 6 y.o. girl. I will admit, the other members of my family were more mournful of this parting.  But don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t dearly love the swine, the buzzing was too much of a distraction.

They even churn their own mulch.

Like the space between the artist’s head and his alarm clock, my gardening senses pulled me from the imploring porcine faces to the pen from which they had squealed. The buzz altered as my neck rotated towards the now silent earth. It worked its way into a beautiful melodious tone as my body followed suit. As I gazed with complete attention to the empty pigsty, the voices around me seemed more distant. The slow realization that P&P left behind the most glorious of garden soil pulled me into the pen. The rest of my family, as if walking to the beat of a dirge, followed the trailer as it pulled away.  I, with much fewer lamentations, galloped to the garden to hoist my shovel, bringing it straight back to my new patch of land.

Digging into the rich earth, I let out a wail that seemingly affirmed to my family that the grief of losing P&P was too much.  However, to their surprise, they came running to discover my new find of Titanoworm was vocally greeted with an overflowing and complete outpouring of joy. Like my dad, they shook their heads wondering what I’m all about.  No doubt it will take a fellow gardener to get it.

HO de phone! Big Daddy with his less hulkish comsoiliots

The simple joy of planting. Thanks P&P for the lovely soil!