I really wish there was a way to contain my late winter enthusiasm to get dirty. Every year, without fail, I start growing countless seeds.
After sitting by the fire all winter long, studying seed catalogs, I make my calculated decision, much like a praying mantis hunts his dinner.
I have probably read every seed catalog 10 times over. It’s the descriptions that draw me in. Today’s hybrids look like they should and have a consistency that you can’t find outside of the industrial agriculture system.
A Big Mac tastes like a Big Mac, anywhere you go, and that is precisely how they are supposed to taste. The tomatoes in the grocery store sit in a package, on a vine, perfectly round and perfectly unscathed from the picking process.
Better at home
Here, it’s different. Sometimes our blueberries are darker, duller or shiny and brighter. Either way, it takes a dedicated person to harvest cup after cup, before the birds get them. Initially, they’re a little sour, but if you can afford to let them ripen on the vines a little, they begin bursting with sweet juice.
Freshly picked and eaten fruits have no equal in the grocery store. The same goes for tomatoes.
Reading seed catalogs and planting instructions is a lot like reading online dating profiles. Everyone claims to be the best, and they all seem to want well-drained soil with the perfect amount of nutrients.
But what I want is something that produces well and tolerates a little neglect. Because it’s going to happen, eventually. I am going to find myself laying in my hammock, staring at a motionless hoe leaning against a tree.
Necessary tools
A good hoe is something no one talks about. I’ve heard lots of talk about seed starting and harvesting, but very little on the meat and potatoes of the production game.
Years ago, I bought a hoe because I just got done hand-tilling my small garden. While it wasn’t really small, sitting at 100 feet by 100 feet, I did feel that it was just the beginning.
After planting some seeds, it was time to weed. So I went down to the local store and purchased a hoe.
I spent more time driving to and from the store to purchase the hoe than I did using the hoe. On the second swing, the weld broke. It was light, but it was cumbersome to swing.
That’s when I began researching, because no one could afford to travel west and establish 160-acre homesteads with modern tools that fall apart.
The answer
I discovered a small company that takes old train parts and repurposes them. They’re modeled after old-fashioned hoes that have stood the test of time.
They’re comfortable, light and can hold an edge — which means, before we go outside to weed, I go over the edge with a file to keep it sharp.
After many years, I have managed to assemble an army of gardening tools. Some of them are so important that I have multiples of them, but never have I ever broken a Rogue hoe. They’re indestructible and make weeding comfortable, but unfortunately not fun.
