The Mystery Cure in Granny’s Garden Boot Camp
“I know what’ll cure you” - she said as I walked down the stairs coughing and hacking the crappy night’s sleep outta my lungs. I was already terrified. Her cure could be anything.
“Sleeping with onions in your socks, and planting my garden barefoot in the sun.”
I figure I can live with that prescription, so off to the garage I go to get hoes and a potato shovel.
The hoe heads still fall off. Both of them. Still. Like they did 2 years ago when I weeded the garden for her.
Aaaaaand breeeeeeeeathe. Until it falls off again. Each time I lose my mind a little more than the time before so by the end of the task all I have left on my head are a couple scraggly patches of hair. The rest are lying on the ground beside the broken hoe heads. Which apparently is more tolerable than throwing a nail through the handle to keep them together…?!?!
Not to mention every time I bend over to push a seed one knuckle deep into the dirt I find myself bracing for a butt slap every time. Cause she does that - and as far as I knew it could be part of her cure - while multiple giant bumble bees on the flowers 20 inches from my head buzz goosebumps up and down my arms. It’s a dizzying combination of sensations. Vibrational audio stimulation mixed with butt clenching anticipation.
Occasionally I let out my own less kid-friendly Yosemite Sam word spew rant from stepping on rocks and sticks and thick stemmed weeds that got mowed off and want their pound of flesh in revenge.
“You tender foot. Your feet are soft.”
“No they’re not.”
I pout as I horrifyingly pick up a piece of glass out of the freshly cultivated dirt. But I can’t chicken out now. I’ve committed to granny garden cure boot camp. And there’s no room for sissies. Sissies don’t make it.
“The last row the seeds are black so you won’t even see ‘em.”
“Oh so now we’re working on blind faith- super” - I thought as I barely dust what I am hoping are lettuce seeds.
“Not too much dirt!!! Even less than the beets!”
So I stop, reconvene, organize and recalibrate the thoughts in my brain then slowly begin scattering the dirt delicately like how I imagine a wee beetle might cover his poo in a beetle-sized litter box. That should be about right…
And then I realize that I haven’t coughed once since we started. We had to have been out there for 2 hours… huh…
Maybe any seeds I miss the rain that is predicted to start this afternoon will push them down a little more into the ground and they’ll be fine.
And maybe the onions in my socks will work because she said it would.
Even if it’s a placebo effect does that mean it didn’t work if I woke up the next morning feeling better?
Nope.
If it worked, it worked.
Maybe she does know the cure.
And maybe she even talked me into believing it.
