hoeing

The Happy Hoer

/ Diane Henders / 40 Comments

As I mentioned a couple of years ago, I’m a hoer.  Very few people are willing to discuss this lifestyle openly and fewer still can comprehend enjoying it, but as you probably know by now, I’m a freak.  I love being a hoer.

Last week found me sweating in the hot sun at the side of the road, waving at passing cars as usual.  And I’m not ashamed to admit I’ll be doing it all summer long, as often as I can.  It’s a way of life for me.

But simply waving at cars seemed a little too passive, so I added pole-dancing to my repertoire just to attract a little more attention.

It was not a pretty sight.

If you’ve been following my Facebook page, you’ll know we spread approximately 10,000 pounds of compost and peat on our big vegetable garden about a month ago.  Hoeing in that beautiful, fluffy soil is pure joy.  Thanks to some perfectly-timed rain, almost everything has germinated, and last week it was time to put up the trellises for my snap peas and scarlet runner beans.

Since snow is unlikely (though not unheard-of) for the next couple of months, we use our snow-fence stakes to support the trellises.

(For those in warmer climates, snow fences are flexible fencing made of slats or perforated plastic and supported by six- to eight-foot-tall iron stakes pounded into the ground.  During the winter the fences control drifting snow by breaking the wind slightly, which causes snow to swirl and collect on the lee side of the fence.)

If you’ve ever tried to swing a 2½ pound hand sledge over your head hard enough to drive in a tall and heavy iron stake, you’ll see the difficulty here.  So, thanks to my nice soft soil, I push the stakes in first so I can reach them more comfortably with the sledge hammer.

It takes a lot of pressure to push those stakes in.  Fortunately, I’m no lightweight.  Put 155 pounds behind an iron stake, and it’s going somewhere… though not necessarily where you want it.

So there I am, hanging off the top of the stake with my legs drawn up to make sure I’ve got all my weight on it.

A car drives by, catching me in the act, and I start to giggle.  This does not improve my balance or coordination.

No, I didn’t fall on my ass.  That would have been decorous.

Instead I flailed my legs madly to maintain my balance without letting the stake topple.  And I laughed harder.

Then I realized how I must look, and I lost it completely.

Since I’m apparently quite allergic to dignity, I decided this was too funny not to share.  So, I give you:  The Happy Hoer.  (Yes, snow-fence posts are ribbed with iron protrusions every couple of inches.  I’m not sure why, but I can only surmise it’s “for greater sensation”.)

happy hoer

I’m A Hoer

/ Diane Henders / 19 Comments

I admit it.  I’m a hoer.  Now that the weather is beginning to cool off, I’ll soon pack it in for the winter, because it’s pretty much a fair-weather pastime for me.  But most nice warm days in the summer, you can find me by the side of the road, waving at all the passing cars.

A few weeks ago, I even caused an accident because drivers were gawking at me.  That’s no mean achievement, when you consider the fact that I was out in the middle of nowhere, and the average traffic load on that road is about one car an hour.

I’m talking, of course, about hoeing my garden.  Wait, what were you thinking…?

And before you ask, no, I wasn’t wearing anything gawk-worthy.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  Dirty, baggy jeans and T-shirt, with a too-big long-sleeved shirt over top, along with my white Stetson (I’m from Calgary, I can get away with it) and a pair of geeky sunglasses.

I have a big vegetable garden by the side of the road at our acreage outside town.  I don’t know what the protocol is these days, but when I grew up in the country, you waved to passing cars, whether you knew the driver or not.  So I waved, as usual.

Apparently, the two drivers were lost, and the one in front decided to stop and ask for directions at the same time as the one behind turned to wave at me.

Seconds later, there was a crash, and then I was gawping like an idiot at the sight of two cars mashed together on an abandoned gravel road in the middle of nowhere.  Pandemonium ensued as one of the passengers went into hysterics.

I’ve never actually witnessed hysterics in real life.  If I get a Chrysler suppository or some other unpleasant shock, I’m more the ‘swear-loudly-and-hit-something’ type.  So observing hysterics first-hand was… enlightening.

Fortunately, nobody was hurt, the drivers apparently remained friends, and the two cars limped off into the sunset.  I think I heard one of the drivers mutter something about giving up and going home.  I stood there, hoe in hand, feeling vaguely guilty about the whole thing.

I’ve heard that hoeing is a dangerous undertaking, and now I understand why.  So if you happen to pass a badly-dressed middle-aged woman working in her garden in the country, please don’t be offended if I don’t wave.

Just throw money.  I’m a hoer, after all.