We now know the story of Sweet William and his love for Black Eyed Susan, and how he grows nearby in the field where she stands. 

She has come for her annual visit to the creek valley. She usually arrives when the heat and humidity settle uncomfortably over the fields and woods, but with thanks to her, I look forward to this time of year.

This is the 54th Ohio Valley Antique Machinery Show. This is that time of year when folks come from near and far and wide to proudly parade their vintage machinery and share their stories with those who come to listen, stroll across the grounds, and take it all in.

This story is fiction, but it was inspired by a true tale, told to me by a friend. It goes something like this.

Now, as to Gourdzilla's name, it is true that gourds and squash are both fruits in the Cucurbitaceae family, though they are typically grown and used for different purposes. Squash are eaten, while gourds are made into utensils or decorations. To my thinking, however, Squashzilla does not have quite the same ring to it as Gourdzilla, and so Gourdzilla shall remain the name of the most amazing squash vine I have ever had the pleasure to encounter.

I suppose that I’ll need to fine tune or maybe even reprogram my computing machine. After I swept out my wood shop and closed the door, we headed on out to the grocery store. I imagined I’d spend the next day hard at work in the garden, pulling weeds set in dry cement. As we pushed our cart up and down the aisles, I mulled over the concept of computer error.

We left early in the morning, when the creek valley air was still cool. With the El Camino's windows down and the cozy wings turned in, it was almost too cold, but I felt wonderful. We were heading east in a line of old cars, with our old car friends, driving along the winding road that followed the Ohio River. I looked out the window at the river's water flowing smoothly past small towns and under bridges. It was a beautiful day.

The old fisherman no longer fishes the creek. I cannot tell him that I understand, but I believe that he knew that one day I would.

I am now glad to report that almost two months have passed since my scattering, and that every single one of those thousands of seeds has sprouted and happily grown. My old friends now comprise what is assuredly the most dense patch of marigolds you could ever imagine.

This work was work that we would have been doing anyway, but not necessarily all done with the goal of getting everything in tip top shape in a timely fashion, so that we could share our world with 37 teachers who were stopping by for a visit.

Hay days finally came to the creek valley. The rain stopped, and even though the hay was past its prime, it was better late than never.

This past week, I started a new adventure, serving as a docent at General Ulysses S. Grant's boyhood home, located in Georgetown, the small town just a few miles up the road from our farm. As soon as I stepped through the door, I realized how little I knew about the man who led the Union Army to victory in 1865, and went on to become the 18th president of the United States.

I remember the room so well. It was covered in wallpaper adorned with big bright flowers. A tall white metal framed bed was up against one wall. The bed was so tall I had to do a running belly flop to jump up into it.

The saying used to be "April showers bring May flowers." I believe that the past few years it has been more like "Rain in May, once again today." 

I have just learned these 13 easy steps to successfully plant a vegetable garden with a puppy dog. I am glad to share them with you on the chance that you might someday find yourself in such a predicament.