Former PBS Gardener Shares His Gardening Stories Through Poems

These poems by C.B. Anderson are from the Society of Classical Poets, founded by Evan Mantyk. The Society is dedicated to reviving traditional poetry.

Late spring flowers in the Belfast Botanic Gardens, Northern Ireland. Albert Bridge/CC BY-SA 2.0

Here are three poems by C.B. Anderson.

Growing Pains

“Let’s grow some vegetables.”  It sounded good At first, so we prepared the soil the way The cloth-bound garden book advised we should, Then sowed our seeds and set out plants the day

And month they indicated on their chart. The seeds emerged on schedule, all the plants Took root, and waiting seemed the hardest part … Until one morning we observed by chance

The perforated leaves with here and there A nibbled edge.  “A dose of rotenone Will put a stop to that, so don’t despair,” Our neighbor told us in a knowing tone,

And he was right.  Around the end of June The woodchucks found us, taking all the peas And cabbages and carrots.  None too soon, We set our traps, the kind designed to please

The staunchest bleeding-heart.  We used as bait Plain peanut butter, finding that our apt Solution raised more issues.  We could wait Until they starved to death where they were trapped

Or … you know what. It was illegal to Transport them, but we did it anyway, Since there was little sport in shooting through A cage. They’d spared the eggplants and toma-

Toes, leaving us a little bit of hope, But then we noticed that the leaves on all The Better Boys were turning yellow, taupe, And finally a shriveled brown. The call

We made to the Extension Service went Unanswered, but our neighbor helped us right Away, informing us, when he had bent To take a look, “Too bad. A fungal blight.”

If what you’re looking for is to abate Your boredom or to sate an appetite For existential pain, then cultivate A garden—challenge Nature to a fight.

An 1878 illustration from a garden seed catalog. Public Domain

The Order of Bloom in Spring and Attendant Disorders

The spring is signaled by advancing light, By stunning clumps of white and purple crocus, And by the way my winter mind must fight To reestablish necessary focus.

So here I am, knee-deep in catalogs, Oblivious to any daffodil Whose trumpet may have pierced the vernal fogs Still shrouding unexpected winterkill.

With work to do, I search my books for theory On how to fend disaster; meanwhile, tulips Bloom in the garden and, becoming weary Of text, I dream of summertime’s mint juleps.

I must be sure to tidy up the border Before the yearly show of allium, For otherwise my doctor may well order Another double dose of Valium.

A statue of a boy gardener adorns the flower beds in the Chicago Botanic Garden. Monalisa310!/CC BY-SA 4.0

In Praise of Delay

Already it is June, And shrubs that flower in the spring Have gone ahead and done their thing, At least a month too soon

In my opinion. Why Can they not wait a little while And cater to the floraphile Who craves a pink July?

Impatience is to blame For this, unless I miss my guess; If faced with procreative stress Perhaps I’d do the same

And burgeon weeks ahead Of time. I often ask too much Of shrubs with which I keep in touch: To follow me instead

Of nature. Let me say In my defense that no good plant Is forced to flower when it can’t, But some will find a way. 

A garden locust sits on a rock. Charles J. Sharp/CC BY-SA 4.0

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, “The Victory Garden.” Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India.  His collection, “Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder” was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.

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