Call a Spade a Shovelã1997 David Hobson
Feature article "I Can Garden" Webzine December 97  Grow Darn it!SM#4 Buy SOILED REPUTATIONS today

   How's the back? Has it stopped aching yet? Charles Dudley Warner said: "What one needs in gardening is a cast-iron back with a hinge in it."
He was right! Mine's only just recovered from the gardening season and now the snow-shovelling season's arrived to restore it to its usual dull throb. Even so,
no sooner have I cleared the Christmas wrapping paper away, and stacked yet another gardening encyclopaedia on the shelf, than I'm dreaming of getting back into the yard—(this will be the year, this will be the year)—not without a lot of hard work though. And what will be the first job I have to tackle as soon as the ground has thawed?—digging beds over. But with what? Old gardeners already know the answer to that question. But what about all those enthusiastic neophyte gardeners that have yet to experience the refreshing fragrance of horse lineament permeating their underwear? Choosing the correct tool for the job is difficult for a beginner. I realized this when a friend asked, "What's the difference between a spade and a shovel?" I thought it was obvious until I tried to explain. Been down to your local garden centre lately? Seen the incredible array of digging or shovelling tools? Some have incredible prices too. There are Long handles, short handles, even carbon fibre handles, T-grips, D-grips and non-slip grips (eat your heart out Dr. Seuss). There are tungsten steel blades, plain steel, aluminum (the rubber one is a hoot). But whichever one you choose, it won't do much for your back.
As far as I'm concerned, spades and shovels are designed for one purpose, and one purpose only—to inflict pain, but your back will wear out a little more slowly
if you choose the correct tool for the job.
    So what is the difference between a spade and a shovel? Aren't they the same thing? —No! A spade is a spade and a shovel is a shovel, even if they do look similar. A spade is for digging and a shovel is for shovelling, except one can substitute for the other—like when you're at the bottom of the garden, toiling away with a spade, and the shovel you need is in the shed at the top. The difference then is not always clear to the casual observer, other than the neighbour who likes to live dangerously by peering over the fence and saying, "Wouldn't a shovel be better for that job?" after you've already made umpteen trips up and down the garden path that morning.
    A spade in its purest form is straight and squarish, sometimes roundish, with or without a point. It's used for digging holes and turning soil over, or whatever poor excuse you have for soil in your yard (it's the soil you know. If I only had better soil). Spades are much favoured by gravediggers. I should know because
I dug a grave once—okay, it was only for a hamster. Of course, if you have to bury a body on a beach, then a shovel might be the better choice (see how confusing it is).
    There's such an amazing variety of spades available: for example, the garden spade, border spade, tree spade, trenching spade, Dutch spade (to go with the Dutch hoe) and an odd one—the Poacher's spade. Thanks to democracy and a steady food supply, the poacher's spade has gone out of production—and a good thing too. In feudal times the gamekeeper bashed many a poor peasant over the head with his own ACME Poacher's spade. Thus providing work for the gravedigger and his spade—or shovel.
    A shovel, in its purest form, has sides to stop stuff falling off. The blade is often bigger than the spade's, but not always. Its main purpose is for moving loose bulky stuff like coal or concrete—there's a pair of shovels to keep your distance from. Specialised shovels have even been created by people searching for easier ways to move stuff like, beans, popcorn, or whatever's left behind when the circus leaves town. In the shovel family there are round point shovels, dirt shovels, square point, medium point, narrow point, Eastern scoops and Western scoops, grain scoops, American pattern, and my personal favourite—the snow.
    Spades and shovels have been modified and adapted so much over the years it's hard to tell one from the other. What one person may call a spade, another may call a shovel. Hence the confusion—and the expression, call a spade a….
    I hope this has cleared up any misunderstandings about shovels and spades. But if you're still unsure, don't worry. As any old gardener will tell you, if your back aches when you're using it, then you're probably using the right one. It's easy to spot an old gardener. They're the ones all bent and twisted and smelling of horse lineament. Now, where's the gas for that Roto-tiller.
 
Top
 
 
Grow--darn it!ã 1997 David Hobson

Garden Musings I Can Garden webzine Jan 1998
 
    Ever talk to your plants? It works you know -- really. At least that's what Edgar, the fellow next door says. I've occasionally talked to plants myself, but only indoor ones. Outdoors I've restricted myself to walking around muttering. Naturally, I swear at weeds, but who doesn't? I do try to keep it down though, because the neighbours are a bit sensitive.
    Now, Edgar, he's a staunch believer. He got serious about this plant communication, as he calls it, one night last winter when he was up late nursing
a sick philodendron and a large scotch. Said he'd been chatting to the plant a bit
-- swears it looked better for it. He fell asleep eventually -- he usually does. He woke up with the TV still on. He was in a kind of middle of the night stupor, trying to decide whether to go to bed or finish the night on the couch, when a guy on TV caught his attention -- one of those motivational types. I'm sure you've seen him, he has more teeth than a great white, but smiles more. Edgar started listening. This guy was going on about positive thinking, and how to motivate growth. That's when Edgar really perked up. He poured himself another drink while he thought about what the guy was saying. It made a lot of sense. Edgar didn't want to be a motivational speaker, but it occurred to him that, if it can help people grow, it might work on other things -- like plants. Well, thanks to the Guy on TV, the scotch, and the Philodendron coming out of intensive care, Edgar became a believer -- and poorer. He whipped out his credit card, grabbed the phone, and ordered the whole package-books, tapes, videos. Everything he'd need to change the world -- or at least the garden.
    Edgar spent the rest of the winter practising. He talked to the dog, he talked to the mailman, and of course he talked to the Philodendron -- it flourished. He practised and practised, even in front of the bathroom mirror. He planned on having the best garden ever. He learned everything about public speaking -- body language, eye contact, etcetera; all the techniques to rouse an audience to action.
    By spring, he was ready. I watched as each morning at dawn, he went down into his vegetable garden to give the young plants the full benefit of his new skills; sort of a sunrise semester. He even had an old half-barrel flipped over to stand on. Edgar had a captive audience -- gave them the whole show, just like the guy on TV; He even jumped off the barrel and ran up and down the rows the same as he does. He showed them his best body language. He cajoled, he motivated, he encouraged --"You can do it carrots, just a little longer". He pleaded, "Come on sprouts-sprout!" He cursed, "$#@%*# you %(@%# bananas just won't co-operate!" He whined and he wept. He spread it on thicker than compost. Talk about flowery speech. I was even ready to rush off and grow something. I could see too, he was making positive eye contact with every single plant. Unfortunately, like any audience, there are always a couple of faces with blank expressions on them. A pair in the back row were totally ignoring him. Edgar was determined to connect, but he ended up in a staring contest with a cabbage-he lost. Of course, it was just like any other seminar; those paying the most attention gained the most. Judging by the state of his lawn, the weeds must have been hanging on his every word. But Edgar swears it was a success. I'm not so sure. I was surprised how well the cabbages did, and they might have grown bigger if he'd been able to keep it up all summer, but by June the neighbours were being difficult again -- they called the cops this time.
    Edgar is still practising his oratorical skills, they don't seem to help much -- he still has trouble getting served in the coffee shop; the staff ignore him, even when he's the only customer. Meanwhile, I'm dreaming of spring again -- and watching late night TV. There's this woman with a Chia pet and she stands it inside a pyramid with these rare crystals -- swears she gets three crops a week. It seems expensive though. I think I'll stick to spreading it on thick -- the real stuff that is.   SM#5 Buy SOILED REPUTATIONS today Top
 
About the author  Synopsis  Reviews  How to order  The Garden Tour  Humour  Diary    Soiled Reputations  Links  
Home