English fiction - humour
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EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
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The problem with plants is they have no feet. I firmly believe that this lack of feet problem is why gardening is so addictive every spring I plant them. I mean, I bring them into being without much exaggeration. This makes me a veritable vegetable God. Not that I am in any way inferring that my bell peppers or sweet one, hundreds are sentient. But who is to say that a God must be acknowledged in order to exist? No, I create. Therefore, I am a God, albeit a fairly minor one. At least if one takes the pantheistic view, being a God is highly overrated, it takes a considerable amount of work, especially when your creations have no feet. Look at it logically, if they had feet, they could move to the best spot in the garden for their particular variety. Better yet in times of drought, they could uproot and migrate to a moister climate better. Still when that odious slug starts to slowly slither to its delicate young primary leaves. It could run away better yet still. It could squash the slimy, little past with little rooty feet, but no plants have no feet. So I must take care of these problems for them. I have the power to save them to let them live or to let them suffer a horrible death of drying up and withering away. Or, or still being slowly eaten by a slimy slug. Being a God is a lot of work. I should probably make clear that it is not my belief that we are heaven's leafy greens destined for God's salad bowl. I am simply noting the similarity that is facially apparent. God is our creator. God brings us into being God decides when we are to snuff it. God creates order out of chaos. I will be the first to admit that sometimes chaos can slip back into my garden one week without a weeding and suddenly the tomatoes are fighting off some form of wild veg or the grass that will not grow anywhere else I planted has suddenly taken up residence and is slowly choking the life out of my celery. Chaos can be a difficult thing to control and I presume that is why it is known as chaos from the Greek, the crude and indigested mass, the lifeless lump un fashioned and unframed. Some have theorized that chaos has its start in small trifling events that are of no import at the time. I have heard of one mathematician who believes that all it takes to start a hurricane roaring in the South Atlantic is for a butterfly to flap its wings in Southeast Asia. Hence the saying from small beginnings come great things. I will also admit freely that chaos can sometimes get the better of me with alarming results in the garden plot. I feel obliged. However, to point out that I am not alone in my conflict with chaos. Having spent over 70 years in God's garden here on earth. I have seen chaos creep back in at various times which at last brings me to the starting point of my little tale of chaos in a small New England town. Far worse than any vetch could ever hope to be.