Machetes, Hoes, and Gardening Woes [Part 3]

This story is never over. But I want it to be... So, let me tell you what happened on days 4 and 5 of my gardening adventure.

Day 4

Before leaving for school, I told my host-dad that I would return after school to make a fence for my garden, in order to keep the pesky chickens from eating all of my seeds.

Because of my recent gardening troubles, I was dreading this supposedly simple task. Thus, I was ecstatic when we got out of school about an hour early. This meant that I could go to the bar and catch a mild buzz before hacking down some palm fronds for my fence.

BAD IDEA.

I got home (at the usual time that I would return home from school), and my father was already in the garden with his hammer and nails, building a REAL FENCE!

“Ce n’est pas necessaire!”

I explained that the task was to construct a simple enclosure, out of palm fronds, branches, or whatever other objects we could find. No need for something so fancypants. The task was also for ME to construct the fence…not for daddy dearest to swoop in and save the day. I thanked my father for his hard work and generous help, but told him that it’s my job, and I must learn how to do it.

He pulled up a chair, and said, “Alright, then do it. I’ll watch.”

Armed with my machete, I began chopping down branches. Unfortunately, the other trainees that live near me had already taken all of the low branches, so I had to adopt some sort of “jump and chop” method. In the process of doing, I sliced my finger open on a palm frond. Right on the stinkin’ knuckle.

So now, I was hopping around the yard trying to cut down trees with a bunch of bright red blood dripping all over the place. It was not a pretty sight. Meanwhile, my father and little sister were sitting back, watching with amusement, as I pretended that I wasn’t completely terrified of losing my finger. At least I’ll still have nine others, right?

As soon as my father was no longer looking, I ran inside and grabbed a band-aid (probably should have taken out my sewing kit as well, but there was no time for that sort of intense surgery).

I returned to my garden, and began assembling my fence. My father was not pleased with my methods, and kindly pointed out all the different places that chickens could enter.

So we worked together to complete the job, and ended up with what I thought was a perfectly adequate fence (though I think my father still thought it was less than satisfactory).

After planting my seeds (green beans), I called it a night and went to my room to attend to what was left of my finger.

Moral of the story: Don’t drink and machete.

Day 5

Chickens ate all of my stinkin’ green beans.