I grew up with a garden, not that I was always appreciative of the fact or thrilled with the idea of pulling weeds or picking beans. I did like the tilling. Like most young boys, the tiller with its noisy gas motor and the ability to power pulverize dirt and old plants and weeds had its allure.
I should’ve written this column last Thursday night, but I was busy watching some Class B girls basketball on television. I don’t watch a lot of sports on television, honestly, so when I do it’s a special occasion.
“Many hands make light work,” goes the old saying. We’ve probably all heard or lived those words. It comes from an old English playwright named Heywood, the Google tells me, but it’s as true today as it was in 1546.
I got home late one recent night from speaking at a meeting about 175 miles west of our ranch, and since the next morning was my column deadline and I was driving until 1:30 a.m. in the wee hours of morning, I’m going to write about the speech. It’s either that or write about the magical properties of sunflower seeds and gas station coffee to keep you driving and alert late at night. I’ll pick the speech.
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