OF CABBAGES AND DESTINY

On Saturday I took Destiny into my hands: I planted cabbage. I know, I know: given my gardening history up here on this mountain that is home to unscrupulous monkeys, devious crows, tiptoeing deer and ruthless wild pigs, all of whom worship reverently at the altar of cabbage and the other vegetables I don’t plant, this is a kind of madness. Still, there are times when one must at least try to take up the reins of Destiny. On the other hand, though, he who forgets the past is condemned to hear that Santayana quote up the wazoo.

It was only a few cabbages, so I’m not that mad, maybe .001 on the King Lear index, not really tempting Destiny, just sort of a minitest to see if the Big D has relaxed at all, maybe has more important things on its humungous agenda than merely sending varmints into my small garden or snatching onions and cabbages from before only my eyes.

In consequence I was immediately reminded that I’m not the only one with a share in Destiny, and who did I think I was, anyway. On Sunday, crow took Destiny into his beak and savaged one of my cabbages, pulled it right out and ate all the good leaves, nipped it right in the bud and looked like stomped on it, no doubt cackling with a dark glee in the dawn hours. It appears his intent is to take one plant at a time, the better to teach me Destiny’s lesson. Tweak Destiny off track, will you, mere mortal?

So today I went out and put some netting over Destiny’s cabbages. And if you think that’s mad, I also planted some Brussels sprouts, to up the index. Sometimes a man's gotta do what a gardener's gotta do.