One morning, at a local garage sale, I stumbled upon the Alamo Garden Club selling plants in one of the member’s driveways. I picked up five tomato plants since the price was right.
“Do you know how to plant them?” the man seated next to the cashier asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I grow them every year.”
“Let me tell you the best way,” he said.
I glanced at my watch. This was peak garage sale time since it was still early.
“First you dig a hole and put the plant in it. Make sure the bottom leaf is two inches above the dirt.”
“Okay,” I said, tapping my foot impatiently.
“Then you add in some Calmenahr.”
“Calmenahr. You want to add that in the hole.”
I’d had my morning coffee. I am a morning person. But I wasn’t understanding his advice.
“Okay, could you spell that?”
“Calmenahr! You know, Calmenahr!”
It dawned on me at last, that he wanted me to add cow manure.
I started laughing. Soon everyone was laughing. The guy was from the South. I was from the Midwest. We met on an early morning in California. He taught me the proper way to plant a tomato.
Everyone was smiling by the time I climbed back into my car.
It’s been twenty years, and I still love that story.
Couldda Wouldda Didda
I planted those tomato plants, and they grew just fine, with or without Calmenahr.