Beefcake Bernie
Bernard isn’t dead, to my knowledge, because I don’t think many things could take down that monster of a groundhog. I’ve obviously used the term Beefcake Bernie in a variety of posts for 2020, but that’s kind of because, he was the bane of my existence in 2019. A monster unleashed on my garden, forged in the fires of Mordor, and trained by George Foreman. Bernie was a true nemesis and pushed me to my breaking point.
But since this year is a garbage fire, I figured I would share a heart warming story of how I didn’t murder the fucker but eventually triumphed. Obviously, if I wanted to, I could have killed Bernie; to do so, I would have needed the Infinity Gauntlet, all the Infinity Stones, and the will to wipe out half of you, but eventually I would have gotten him. Now, since I don’t want to kill 50% of the people on the planet, I went a different route – trapping and relocating.
Before we get into the End Game, I want to give you a little taste of Bernie’s appetite. Beefcake started his life out as a tiny little groundhog. My backyard is fully enclosed, no gate, nothing, just a tall wooden fence, and in that fence there are some gaps that I’ve never seen anything slipped through. My friend however, in 2019, was out back reading and noticed that a baby groundhog is the perfect size to get into the garden.
They’re adorable.
But they’re assholes. Beefcake Bernie made his debut as a cute little nugget who came upon the Garden of Eden by chance. I had 60 plants, all heirlooms, and he loved them.
At first, I wasn’t worried. He eventually would grow to big to fit through the fence. My only hope was that this growth spurt would happen when he was on the other side of the fence. I lost a couple of peppers, a whole tomato plant that Bernie knocked over trying to get to a fruit, but then his reign of terror ended. With relative peace in my homestead, I went back to tending to my young plants. [For more on Bernard, click “Read More”]
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People love talking about growth: cities, facial hair, finger nails, waist lines, love, and all sorts of shit. For some reason, we have innate appreciation for humans who consistently evolve through life. Folks talk less about the more depressing topic of devolution or stagnation of human curiosity. It’s always about: “try something new” or “get a new hobby” or “try that thing you’ve always wanted to try”.
Luckily for you folks, it is 2020 and I can’t write a post shitting on the human condition because no one needs that (including me). However, I am going to talk about gardening (I was doing it before 2020, and by doing it, I mean failing at it). Previously, I talked about the fact that every 2020 crap cloud has a slightly bronze lining and we need to grab onto those slightly good things and embrace them. For me, one of those was gardening (I’ve been baking my own bread since 2012).
In my return post, Been a Minute, I talked heavily about my gardening and how working from home had given me the ability to monitor the garden more than if I had been in the office: catching two groundhogs (relocated humanely to a local forest) and plugging their hole permanently.
I rather not dive into the battle of “Beefcake Bernie and the Tomato Plants of 2019” but dig into the garden and why I wanted one: I like to eat, I want to eat unique things that cannot be found in a store, heirlooms taste better but are expensive at the farmers market, I have land to support my own garden, and I prefer eating food than looking at flowers (also I save money). That’s the basics and my initial reasoning for jumping into a garden.
Yet, that’s not all that happened, it strengthened a friendship. It made me appreciate and enrich the love I have for two humans and their little one. It blows my mind thinking back on it, but we all love the same thing: food… why did it take this long to fortify this friendship.
To take a quick aside, since this post won’t be about friendships but about me, I have relied on these two so much that it is important to give them a call out. I wouldn’t have the garden I have without their innate knowledge, their experience, and, most importantly, their willingness to share that experience and wisdom with me. Without them, I never would have vined my tomato plants when they outgrew their cages, I wouldn’t have pruned my suckers, and I wouldn’t have achieved the harvest I am still eating today. So, from the bottom of my heart: I love you Randy and Kristine, thank you so much.
Now back to me, but remember as you read this, that I didn’t achieve this by myself. It took a village (of two and their little one). [click “Read More” to be philosophized]
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