The writing of the blog has usurped by the ancient call of garlic squeaking to be let out of its cocoon and put in the ground. It's a symbiotic relationship, me and garlic...I work my butt off, and the garlic gets another generation.
Genghis Khan and his army brought garlic to Europe from China/Mongolia. A short trip to America and it took off west as fast a people could take it.. One of my favorite varieties, Inchelium Red, made it's way from back east to the Colville Indian Reservation in Oregon. I reckon it went out on the Oregon Trail in somebodies wagon or coat pocket. It was rediscover in 1968, and has spread all over America since then.
Last year the Garlic King demanded that I plant 10,000 little cloves. That was my quota. I told him I was just about out of planting room...he commanded I plow new ground. I did.
I was selected to my task by the Garlic King in a telepathic interview. I passed the physical exam. i was asked to bend over for 2 hours at a time...a prerequisite to garlic farming. I'm 6'1" with a 30 inch inseam...short legs, long body. prefect for root cropping...spotted me a mile away, he did.
There will be a time I'll not be able to do the King's bidding...my back will give out, my want to will go away...and he will have to wander off and find someone else to do it's bidding, or die off with me.
I have been sending garlic seed stock emissaries and ambassadors to the far reaches of Georgia and Alabama to establish new territory for the Garlic King. He repayed me with a good crop for the past 7 years.
Clever creatures, these little garlics...
Um, does this, ahem, Garlic King tell you to do anything else, Dad? Just curious.
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