Some crops are hardier than others
My youngest was discussing plans for the summer; specifically, employment plans. The first toe in that stream that goes on around the bend. Writing up a CV (because you can’t go to see a potential employer without documents, right?) is particularly difficult for the beginner. I mean, presenting a blank sheet of paper may show that you are lacking in guile, but that’s not what they teach kids in school.
I haven’t been in the position of job hunting for a while, but I’m sure I could knock together a list of places that have offered me money for my time and knowledge. What might be more fun is if I had to present a list of the odd jobs I have taken on through the years. And let’s put emphasis on the modifier “odd”.
After a few minutes of reflection, the one job that leaps out at me is picking rocks. Some of you may have gone after apples, or potatoes, or the wily fiddle head; I once spent a weekend on a farm, following a sled and trying to harvest any stone larger than a hen’s egg.
Not everyone chose to homestead in places where the soil is rich and red and free of the lumps. In the area south of the St. Lawrence River, near the border with New Brunswick, the ground produces plants as an afterthought. The real crop is random, glacial erratic boulders which are gathered into piles in the corners of fields. When we started, I asked if this was a new farm; the question bewildered my host. No, they gather rocks every spring, and they have been for generations.
I’m at a loss to explain the geological process, but if ever I have to choose a place for a garden, I’m going to survey the neighbourhood. If it looks like rocks are the order of the day, I’m moving on.
