Former PBS Gardener Shares His Gardening Stories Through Poems

Here are three poems by C.B. Anderson.

Growing Pains

“Let’s grow some vegetables.”  It sounded good
At first, so we prepared the soil the way
The cloth-bound garden book advised we should,
Then sowed our seeds and set out plants the day

And month they indicated on their chart.
The seeds emerged on schedule, all the plants
Took root, and waiting seemed the hardest part …
Until one morning we observed by chance

The perforated leaves with here and there
A nibbled edge.  “A dose of rotenone
Will put a stop to that, so don’t despair,”
Our neighbor told us in a knowing tone,

And he was right.  Around the end of June
The woodchucks found us, taking all the peas
And cabbages and carrots.  None too soon,
We set our traps, the kind designed to please

The staunchest bleeding-heart.  We used as bait
Plain peanut butter, finding that our apt
Solution raised more issues.  We could wait
Until they starved to death where they were trapped

Or … you know what. It was illegal to
Transport them, but we did it anyway,
Since there was little sport in shooting through
A cage. They’d spared the eggplants and toma-

Toes, leaving us a little bit of hope,
But then we noticed that the leaves on all
The Better Boys were turning yellow, taupe,
And finally a shriveled brown. The call

We made to the Extension Service went
Unanswered, but our neighbor helped us right
Away, informing us, when he had bent
To take a look, “Too bad. A fungal blight.”

If what you’re looking for is to abate
Your boredom or to sate an appetite
For existential pain, then cultivate
A garden—challenge Nature to a fight.

The Order of Bloom in Spring and Attendant Disorders

The spring is signaled by advancing light,
By stunning clumps of white and purple crocus,
And by the way my winter mind must fight
To reestablish necessary focus.

So here I am, knee-deep in catalogs,
Oblivious to any daffodil
Whose trumpet may have pierced the vernal fogs
Still shrouding unexpected winterkill.

With work to do, I search my books for theory
On how to fend disaster; meanwhile, tulips
Bloom in the garden and, becoming weary
Of text, I dream of summertime’s mint juleps.

I must be sure to tidy up the border
Before the yearly show of allium,
For otherwise my doctor may well order
Another double dose of Valium.

In Praise of Delay

Already it is June,
And shrubs that flower in the spring
Have gone ahead and done their thing,
At least a month too soon

In my opinion. Why
Can they not wait a little while
And cater to the floraphile
Who craves a pink July?

Impatience is to blame
For this, unless I miss my guess;
If faced with procreative stress
Perhaps I’d do the same

And burgeon weeks ahead
Of time. I often ask too much
Of shrubs with which I keep in touch:
To follow me instead

Of nature. Let me say
In my defense that no good plant
Is forced to flower when it can’t,
But some will find a way. 

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, “The Victory Garden.” Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India.  His collection, “Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder” was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.

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