The Garden Plot

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Ian beamed at Mom.

Sandi turned with the carrots and broccoli toward James.

“NO! I only eat meat!”

Neither of the boys has ever liked vegetables. From arugula to zucchini, they hated every one. If it weren’t for potatoes, either chips or fries, they’d never eat any veggies. Neither trickery nor intimidation had worked, but late that winter I had an idea.

“We’ll have a garden. James and Ian will help with everything. Planting. Cultivating. Harvesting.” I radiated confidence in my scheme, although Sandi wasn’t so sure.

Later that spring, she watched me clean up from the first step. “How’d it go?”

“Not bad.”

“There’s dirt on your neck.”

“Ian poured a shovel-full on me. I’ll take a shower soon.”

All summer, I was ruthless, and the boys developed the farmer’s hatred for weeds. After a few weeks, they hated the crops too. Still, I persisted, and the garden grew. At harvest time, the boys pitched in. We pulled carrots, plucked tomatoes and twisted ears off the cornstalks.

“Mom! Look what we have!” Ian carried a heavy basket into the kitchen.

“We got these from the garden.” James set another basket on the counter. “Can I watch TV?”

“Wow,” Sandi said, “Wait ’til you taste it.”

I smiled. Sweet vindication. Everything was about to pay off.

Scarcely an hour later, Sandi laid a steaming vegetable medley on the table beside a platter of corn on the cob and held a spoonful over Ian’s dish.

“No, thanks,” Ian said, “I’m good.”

Sandi reached for James’ plate.

“NO! I hate vegetables!”

“But…” I couldn’t believe it. “All your work. All summer. Your reward.”

The boys wouldn’t budge, and I collapsed into my chair.

Sandi sat across from me and gave a sweet smile. “Any more great ideas, Einstein?”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.