Cilantro and Kale and Carrots, Oh My!

                                                                             The Materials.

                                                                     The man behind the magic.

                                                                                        The finished product. 
                                   (Thank you Ike for the photo, and thank you Instagram for making even dirt look nice.)

Recently I learned how to semi-competently operate a drill, and less than competently operate a power saw—but I learned all the same. My father, numbed and freshly off the dentists chair, patiently consented to teach me. I greeted him at the gate with all the materials already splayed out on our basketball court. I told him matter-of-factly that I had Youtubed how to build a raised garden bed, but that I may need a few tutorials just in case. Perhaps it was providential he was numbed. After years of doing his own home improvements and repairs (some ill-fated; Dad, please just call a plumber), he picked up the tools and used them as if the were extensions of his own body. I watched, asked a lot of questions, then it was my turn. What he made look easy took a considerable amount of muscle and precision. He initially inspected my handiwork over my shoulder, stopping me short as a few sawing attempts went awry. Finally, with a nod he went to go recline in the Arizona sun while his Novocain wore off and the soreness in the back of his mouth set in.

This past year I have become a huge fan of gardening, and have been involved in a community garden with a few friends. Emboldened by our gardens success, I decided to build a few raised bed planters of my own. Fresh vegetables, with their irregular looks, and most importantly their rich tastes, give me so much joy.

I went at my task, telling myself that I was going for functionality not aesthetics—it does not have to look perfect—knowing full well that I am a huge fan of the latter. From the flat of his back, my father would occasionally yell, “change the drill bit!” or, "check your screw!" after he heard the drill wail for a prolonged period of time without change.

Stretching out my biceps muscles that were starting to feel like jelly, I heeded his advice. What I really wanted to do was to slap that screw into place. But, I made the conscious decision to not let the present aggravation with the knot in the wood take over. I followed my Dad's instructions and they worked. I was amazed; he knew what the problems were just by listening. And he just taught me Construction 101 half doped. I resolved to learn more about the art of building. I also resolved to start doing push ups. I was embarrassed by my shaky arms.

The planter began to take its rectangular shape—the most elemental of shapes—but I was very pleased nonetheless. As I inspected my work, I thought that wood has never looked so shiny and raw. How beautiful! I mentally thanked the staff at Lowes for helping me after I was targeted wandering aimlessly through the lumber aisle with a list and wide eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'd like some lumber."

"What kind of lumber?"

"...the kind you build with."

I cleared a 3x8 ft. area in my brother Ted's backyard, exposing good soil and freeing it of weeds and cumbersome deep-rooted bermuda grass. Wielding a shovel and pickax a mere hour after using a saw and drill made me feel so satisfied; I loved teaching my hands and muscles new things. Never mind how I actually looked while using them, and my intermittent stretch breaks. This was all new territory. I laid the planter in the cleared area and filled it with a mixture of dirt and compost. After settling the seeds into their new homes with care, I superstitiously said a prayer. I gave the earth a final tamp, looked at what I had done, and got in my truck and drove home. 

Dirty, smelly, sore and so happy.