Half the garden got in last night. Before the overnight showers, eight Brussels sprouts, six bell peppers and a single sweet banana pepper plant were plotted. More to come this weekend.

This is my second season growing a vegetable garden. Last year spinach, peas, beans, peppers, cucumbers and tiny tomatoes thrived inside a raised bed filled with good soil and good manure. We all enjoyed some tasty salads. Often, late at night, I’d walk out into the backyard and marvel at my creation. The digging, the raking, the planting, the weeding, the watering; all magically going according to plan. My vegetable garden was a success!  Until I decided to spray weed and bug poison, intended solely for the lawn and not to be used near trees, shrubs, flowers, fruits or vegetables, all over my bounty.

This one kind of writes itself, doesn’t it?

And it’s not as if the idea had been there for days, the “I should go out and poison my garden” idea. It simply was this: while spraying the lawn, I decided I knew better than the four-page instructional booklet glued to the bottle of chemicals I had fastened to the hose. There was no forethought; only taking back control. For an instant, a split-second, I thought I knew better than God, Nature and the good people and Scotts Miracle-Gro.  And with that, the harvest was gone.

It seems insane to self-sabatoge like that, but that’s how it goes: cunning, baffling, powerful, right? Well, maybe, but I think I can point to a couple of moments that may have led to the blight. All those late-night veggie-garden visits? Pride. Puffy-chesting over plants that, quite honestly, I didn’t weed that often, nor probably watered enough. But still, I erect my monuments wherever I can, right? Question: was I out there, under the moonlight, thanking God and the Earth?

Today: Know your role, do your job, celebrate others.

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