"The dew had almost dried on the warm spring morning. After long winter hours of studying the Old Farmer’s Almanac and finding the right phase of the moon, my dad chose this Saturday in April to plant the family garden.
Dad added fresh gasoline and checked the oil in the 1950s Troy-Bilt tiller. A few sputters and clinks later, the motor churned, caught and pulverized the soil. Soon, the sweet smell of fresh-turned earth permeated the country air.
Spreading a wagon load of dried manure and turning it under, he was ready to lay out the rows in an east to west direction. This is where I came in. Breaking a short stick from the backyard pear tree, I unwound a ball of string collected over the winter. Cutting and tying one end to the stick and pushing it into the top of the row with the opposite end approximately 50 feet below would make for a straight furrow.
Standing at the end with both hands on his hips, Dad surveyed the row.
“Make your first row straight and the others will follow. Also, allow space between rows. Too close and you can’t plow between the plants. Too much, and ground space is wasted.”
Was it Gibran the Prophet, who said, “Allow space in your togetherness…?”"
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