There’s Black Gold in that creek! At least that’s what my Dad always said. Now some of you, Dear Readers, may want to know exactly what Black Gold is. Others may want to know just where that creek is. For both of those answers we have to travel back a long, long time ago to a creek located behind house number 110 on an old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo.
It’s that time of year once again to enjoy one of America’s favorite pastimes. Nope, it’s not baseball, football, or even water polo. (Yes I’m a closet fan. You know they swim the entire time of the game without touching the bottom? How they do it, I don’t have a clue. I sink like a stone.)
But I digress. I’m not talking about those amazing water athletes – I’m talking dirt. Yes, it’s gardening time!
But before our two granddaughters and I head out to our backyard to start the preparation of our garden, we have to mentally visit another garden, one located just in front of Cripple Creek where I first learned most of the skills needed to become a successful gardener at the tender age of 6. And I, for one, can’t wait to get my hands dirty again.
With the worst of winter behind us, it looks like spring is right around the corner, and with it my Dad’s gardening battle cry comes to mind, “Y’all boys get the green out!”
He, of course, was talking about his never-ending battle against weeds that had infiltrated the “Black Gold.” That was the name he called the dirt in his garden. My three brothers and I, we just called it dirt. Heavy winter and early spring showers caused Cripple Creek to flood behind our house. The receding waters left behind a deposit of rich, dark, silt dirt that was perfect for growing just about anything. Especially weeds.
My brothers and I disliked weeds even more than my dad, mainly because we were the ones who had to pull them all season long. That and there’s not much you can do with a weed once it is pulled.
At least ridding the garden of rocks and large dirt clods was fun. “Accidently” hit one of your brothers upside the head and it’s the first volley into a full-blown rock or dirt clod war! Through those seven magical years we spent on Flamingo, there were many such battles. Each brought with it possibilities of bruises, cuts and even death. Okay, perhaps not death, but some 50 years later, the scar above my right eye is still clearly visible. And it wasn’t from a weed war.
Each flood left behind an inch of dark silt that had to be worked into the existing soil. This was accomplished by using Big Red, a front tine tiller that beat anyone to death while they tried to hold onto it.
Being dragged behind Big Red was no fun, but watching one of my other brothers being dragged behind was — especially when he dug up a large rock, sending Big Red and the unfortunate brother wobbling out of the garden, down the hill, and into Cripple Creek. My brothers always thought it was odd they were the only ones hitting rocks.
I never did. You see, I knew where the rocks were. Not that I’m admitting to planting large rocks in Dad’s garden, mind you. Only a crazy person would do that. Or one who really enjoyed watching his brothers take a bath in Cripple Creek.
Dad worked silt into his garden for the entire time we lived on Flamingo, and after seven years his Black Gold was perfect. He could grow any vegetable in huge quantities. So much so that come harvest, he would have us kids walk up and down Flamingo dragging a wagon loaded down with the extras giving them away to our neighbors.
I learned an important lesson during all those hours toting vegetables over hot pavement. If you are going to strategically place tomatoes for the next great tomato war in back of the family’s avocado green station wagon with the faux wood panels, behind bushes next to the front door, or under your Dad’s workbench, then whatever you do, don’t forget about them. Two weeks later they are good for only one thing — getting the person who forgot them into a whole heap of trouble.
Even though we no longer live on Flamingo, there is still a way to get the Black Gold needed for the perfect garden soil. Our local plant nursery (the girls call it Rock City because they also sell mountains of stone) delivers truckloads of Black Gold right to your house. When asked, the owner said the mixture was an old family recipe he learned as a kid from his dad. Seems they also grew up with a creek that flooded right behind their house leaving behind the perfect garden soil.
Rock City delivered a dump truck load of Black Gold to our backyard early Saturday morning. We were going to use it to fill the new raised bed for our garden, but our granddaughters had other ideas for the mountain of dirt.
That was two weeks ago. Seems the perfect garden dirt is also perfect for rolling or sliding down, digging in, or running cars and trucks on, and it even tastes good! Not gonna say what little red-headed girl thought it was a good idea to take a bite, but she’s really cute. Even with a mouthful of dirt.
So this year, do away with the red monster of a tiller and that huge garden plot. Work smarter, not harder. Build a four-foot by eight-foot raised bed and fill it full of the screened Black Gold from your local nursery. In it you can grow all the vegetables a family of six can possibly eat.
Screen dirt means no dirt clods. That’ll keep the kids safe from any dirt clod injuries from impending wars. A smaller garden plot also does something else. It’ll keep the kids from dragging a wagon loaded down with vegetables up and down the street this fall.
Lastly, a load of Black Gold in the backyard is much cheaper than any play set. It’s the perfect way to keep kids playing for hours and gets them completely worn out. It’s dirty, but really clean fun.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
