Have I talked about Stephanie Davis' amusing song before? [Photo after].
Talkin' Harvest Time Blues
Well, it starts with a catalogue that comes in the mail
In the middle of the winter, when you’ve had it with those pale
Thick-skinned, store-bought, sorry, hard-as-rock
Excuses for tomatoes with the flavor of a sock
And there on the cover sits THE juicy red
Ripe homegrown tomato you’ve had dancin’ in your head
Never mind you said last August that you’d had it up to here
With the hoeing and the weeding—that’s what you say every year!
So, you fix a cup of cocoa, sink into your easy chair
Put your feet up and you thumb through the pictures and compare
Big Boys, Better Boys, Early Girls, and romas
The new disease and drought-resistant hybrid from Sonoma!
Then it’s on to peas and carrots, lima beans and beets and kale
And you’ve never tried kohlrabi—say, the lettuce is on sale!
What’s a garden without sweet corn—better plant some marigolds
And you just read in “Prevention” ‘bout how garlic’s good for colds!
So, you phone an order in that nearly melts your Visa card
Then stare out at the foot of snow that blankets your backyard
And visualize your garden, oh, so peaceful and serene
Until at last you close your eyes and slip into a dream about:
CHORUS
Harvest time (bushels of red, ripe tomatoes)
Harvest time (sweet corn that melts in your mouth)
Well, the days turn to weeks and the next thing you know
There’s a robin at the feeder and the last patch of snow
Disappears ‘bout the time that a UPS truck
Backs up to your house and you stand there, awestruck
As 47 “Perishable—Plant Right Away”
Marked boxes are unloaded on your porch as you say,
“Are you sure?” “Yes, ma’am, need your signature here—
Looks like someone’s gonna have ‘em quite a garden this year!”
Well, you watch him drive away, then you sink to your knees
‘Cause you feel a little woozy, 47 boxes—Please!
God, I know I’ve got a problem and we’ve had this talk before
But help me this one last time—I won’t order anymore!
Just then as if in answer to your prayer your sister’s van
Pulls up into the driveway with Aunt Martha, Uncle Stan,
Two nephews and a cousin, who just stopped to say hello
But soon are sporting calluses as up and down each row
You, their warden, push them; it’s a scene from “Cool Hand Luke”:
“Over there—those clods need breaking! Leave more space around that cuke!
See those bags of steer manure? Bring a dozen over—fast!
Yes, I see you have lumbago, but you’ll thank ME when at last (it’s)
CHORUS
Harvest time (show you what a real strawberry tastes like)
Harvest time (all the zucchini your van can hold)
Well, that night it starts to sprinkle and you can’t help feeling smug
‘Cause your garden’s in the ground and getting watered while you’re snug
Underneath the covers, or at least until midnight
When the temperature starts dropping and in no time you’re smack right
In the middle of your garden, in your jammies, on your knees
With a headlamp and a hammer and some tarps and jeez Louise
It’s cold but you keep working ‘till the last plant’s safe from harm
And there’s holes in your new jammies and bursitis in your arm
“Cause by gosh, you’re a gardener right down to your muddy clogs
And even when the rabbits take your lettuce and stray dogs
Pee on your zucchini and a fungus coats your kale
“Cause it’s rained for two weeks’ solid—do you falter? Do you fail?
Yes, of course! You throw your hoe down, stamp your feet and call it quits—
Declare for all the guards to hear that gardening is the pits
And you’ll never plant another and this one can bloody rot
And suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds and, like as not
You see a couple weeds you must have missed the last go-round
And shake your head and meekly pick your hoe up off the ground
And hoe and keep on hoeing ‘till your romas dangle red,
Ripe, and juicy on the vine while sweet corn towers overhead,
Beans hang from their trellis, big orange pumpkins sprawl about
And that satisfying feeling hits you once more when you shout:
CHORUS
Harvest time (Break out the canning jars!)
Harvest time (Man the pressure cooker!)
Harvest time (You have to take zucchini—we’re related!)
Harvest time (Now THIS is a tomato!)
Stephanie Davis
Recluse Music (BMI)
All Rights Reserved
Anyway it is the time of the last of the zucchini (yes, it is true that I did not pick the golds quickly enough -- but we have enjoyed them anyway) and the beginning of the tomatoes. Allelujah! May the summer continue just long enough.