The First Beans

To get myself through the remainder of the dreary winter weather I have started to dream of what I will be planting in my garden come spring. Here is a poem from Boreegard (aka Mike O'Neil) that makes me long even more deeply for the first days of spring. Thanks for sending it Bo!!

    THE FIRST BEANS

Even though the town plowed and harrowed this common ground,

I scuffle-hoe and rake the small patch where I will plant the beans.

 A thousand little weeds die as a result.

The burgeoning milkweed I dig out with the long-handled shovel.

Does God damn me for murdering his wild greens?

They are surely His tender creations. 

Or does he applaud the hoeing DNA he pumped into me in the first place,

Which compels me to kill the weed and plant the seed?

Hank Thoreau philosophized on beans in his pond book some time ago,

And I daresay my New England dirt is much the same as his,

With the rocky ground and the pesky tendril roots,

And my sweat, dripping down the row, much the same as his.

Now if the rain falls gently, in the proper intervals,

And the cutworms, Mexican beetles, aphids,

The deer, the rabbits, the woodchucks and the curious child,

Are somehow miraculously diverted, perhaps I’ll harvest a bean or two.

Boreegard

June 14, 2008