Valerie Marr shares 1st place poem

The sun has extended some bright rays; temperatures have edged up enough to change a jacket from a comfort to a burden. Spring is finally emerging, and the thoughts of many are turning to the joys of gardening.

Jackson resident Valerie Marr was kind enough to share with us her thoughts on Spring Gardening Fever, and the months following, which she captured in verse.

Mrs. Marr submitted "The Befuddled Gardener" to the Garden Club of Georgia 2008 poetry contest on behalf of Jackson's Azalea Garden Club and the Redbud District and was awarded first place.

We hope you will enjoy her entertaining ode to the excitement and frustrations of creating and maintaining beautiful plants and flowers.

The Befuddled Gardener

Hooray, March is here, no surprise.

This is the year I'll organize.

No tolerating pesky moles.

No gardening gloves full of holes.

The lawn looks grim, but I am wise.

I shall simply fertilize.

Weed and Feed sounds like fun.

You go girl, grab a bag and run.

The turf is fed and has protection,

Oops, forgot to read the directions.

It says to water, what a pain.

Now I'll have to pray for rain.

So, it's time for shrubs and flowers,

and all those lovely April showers.

We all know what's our best friend.

A big old bag of 10-10-10.

Weeds love me and my garden.

I curse them, begging your pardon.

My back is aching, pity my plight.

I forgot to take Advil last night.

In May all is looking good.

The greedy roses need more food.

Wait, something is not right.

Who tiptoed around in the night?

Miss Lily's now in front of little Daisy.

Did I mess up, or am I going crazy?

I moved them with a very stern face,

And instructions to stay in place.

Ah, the lovely month of June.

Everything is in full bloom.

But what is eating at my petals?

Horrors, it's the Japanese Beatles.

I spray and treat, and treat and spray,

to try and make them go away.

They won't have my flowers for dinner

And in the end I am the winner.

July and August leave me beat,

My plants and I can't take this heat.

We strive to do our very best,

But these months are the acid test.

By September, the race is run.

The late bloomers are still fun.

I sit on the porch and drink iced tea.

The garden clean up can wait on me.

Some things I do are all in vain.

The effort makes me complain.

Will I stop gardening, you fear?

Hey, I can't wait until next year!