Gardening Mums

A friend gave me this years ago, after Miss 8, who was then Miss 4 and her friend picked every daffadil, freesia, tulip. and every petal from just about every plant in the backyard...I think its cute:

PRAYER FOR A GARDENING MOTHER by Debbbie Farmer

Dear God, give me the strength to grow a garden.

Give me the perseverance to find a portion of dirt in my backyard that's free from

old ice block sticks and sand pit toys, and not being used as a tricycle parking lot or a soccer field.

Bestow on me the ability to say names like "Acacia melanoxlon" and "Zanthoxylum braclayacanthum", since I am stuck living in a high -maintance planting zone that seems to be conducive only to unpronoucable flowers.

Give me the courage to face the fact that the crate of bulbs that took six weeks to be delivered and three hours of back breaking labour to plant , can be dug up in five minutes by a two year old with a toy shovel.

Guide me through the garden over plastic toys, irrigation systems, and wire mesh to untangle the dog from the watering hose for the fifteenth time.

Help me to accept that everyting in my garden is either expensive, high maintence, or unpronoucable, and the only thing that looks the same as it did in the mail order catalogue is the dirt.

Grant me patience when my daughter waters the bulbs with apple juice because "they looked thirsty".

Give me the strengthto remain silent when my husband puts saucers of beer around the backyard to get rid of the snails.

Comfort me when all the saucers are empty and the dog is staggering around the backyard trying to do the limbo under the low brances of the apple tree.

And when it rains (and you know it will ,God) give me the strength to spend all afternoon on my knees in the mud blowing the moisture off the new shoots with my hair dryer so they don't catch 'a fatal fungal disease'.

In your infinite wisdom, show me how to turn off the automatic drip irrigation system that has been on since sometime in mid November.

Grant me serenity when my son presents me with a bouquet of freshly ripped out daffadils crammed into an old plastic sand bucket-and the ability to smile when he tries to replant them.

And if I ask too much God, just give me the foresight to know that, no matter what I do, by the end of summer the flowers will be run over by rollerskates or sat on by the dog, the garden stakes will be used for goal posts, and the fertile soil will, once again, be filled with old ice block sticks and sand toys- and it won't bother me one bit.

Debbie Farmer