St Francis digs up tales of fools in the garden
I dont mean all the horrible things; one does not have to be a rocket scientist to work out what he thinks of crime, corruption, nuclear weapons and mans inhumanity to man.
What I am talking about are the completely strange and farcical things we all do that must make God laugh.
Take garden lawns for example. As someone who has done his fair share of fertilising, watering, hollow tining, rolling, weeding, mowing and then carting bags and bags of cuttings to the local dump, I have often pondered the nature of this unending cycle.
Someone else who shares my thoughts on the subject is Southern Cross reader Phyllis Freeman of Brighton Beach on the Bluff in Durban. She sent me this quite wonderful story of a conversation between God and St Francis.
God: Hey Francis, you know all about gardens and naturewhats going on down there on earth? Whats happened to the dandelions, violets, thistles and stuff I planted eons ago?
I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. And the nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colour by now. All I see are patches of green.
St Francis: Its the tribes that settled there, Lord. They are called the Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers weeds and went to great lengths to kill them off and replace them with grass.
God: Grass? But thats so boring, its not colourful. It doesnt attract butterflies, bees or birdsonly grubs and worms. Whats more, its temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburban-ites really want grass growing there?
St Francis: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to sow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilising it and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
God: The spring rains and the warm weather probably makes the grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburb-anites very happy.
St Francis: No, Lord. As soon as it has grown a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week
God: They cut it? Do they bale it like hay?
St Francis: Not exactly Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
St Francis: No Lord, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
God: Now let me get this straight: they fertilise it to make it grow and when it does grow, they cut it and pay someone else to throw it away?
St Francis: Yes, Sir.
God: Thats crazy. These Suburb-anites must be relieved when the rain stops. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
St Francis: You arent going to believe this, Lord: when the grass stops growing, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
God: What nonsense! Well, at least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, even if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in summer. In the autumn the leaves fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves become compost to enhance the soil. Its a natural circle of life.
St Francis: Youd better sit down, Lord. As soon as the leaves fall, the Suburbanites rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
God: What do they do to protect the shrubs and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
St Francis: After throwing the leaves away they go out and buy something called mulch. They haul it home in bags and spread it around in place of the leaves.
God: And where do they get this mulch?
St Francis: From companies that cut down trees and bushes then grind them up to make mulch.
God: nough! I dont want to hear about this anymore. St Catherine, youre in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight ?
St Catherine: Dumb and Dumber, Lord, its a really stupid movie about
God: I dont think Ill be bothered to watch itI ve just heard the whole story from St Francis.
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