I was married to a garden, plant loving, land-scraping, grass-cutting freak.

Yes, it is true. He was a freak, but I loved him and he loved plants. We were young and renting a ranch style home five miles out of the city. It was farm country and he loved it, I hated it. It smelled like cows because they were in our backyard.

"I am going to plant a garden in the empty field next to us," He told me one early spring day.

He was so excited the owner had given him permission to have a huge garden and had even plowed up the dirt for him. Now I love fresh vegetables and I did not mind a bit of hard work to help. We went shopping for plants and some seeds.

My husband had taken courses in high school in the south so he had the knowledge to take good care of this garden and these plants. There were tomato plants, peppers, green beans, yellow bean, yellow peppers, and even sweet corn. We had cauliflower and broccoli, Brussels sprouts and he was even trying lettuce. He had everything but the kitchen sink.

That was the biggest problem. We worked for days planting the plants and seeds. For weeks, we watch anxiously as the little plants and seeds grew into beautiful small vegetables. Then tragedy struck, we had a drought. No rain came for days and the sun was brutal. The field was too far from our home to run a hose and we were at a loss as to what to do.

"I'm going to lose my garden if I don't do something real soon." He was just beside himself with worry.

My husband came up with a plan. Everyday he took, by hand, five-gallon buckets of water from our home and watered each plant. He saved his garden.

We lost the lettuce, and Brussels sprouts but he saved most everything else by his perseverance and back breaking work. Yes, my husband was a freak but he loved his garden plants and took care of them as if they were his children.

Learn more about this author, Kelly A Willoughby.
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