For the uninitiated, gardeners have a strange way of displaying friendship. Such was the year of the fertilizer - the year of the Great Gift.

Wesley and I had worked together for five years in a garden shop. Bonds of mutual interest drew us together. We both enjoyed gardening. Wesley lived on an acreage and was on speaking terms with the good earth. He was keenly aware of the needs of a garden.

He left to become a meat inspector, but he never forgot me. I suspect what brought me to his mind again were the huge stacks of fertilizer he passed on his way to work each morning. One day he called. Would I like a load of fertilizer? Indeed, I would! I usually purchased this product in 50# sacks. He now had a two-ton truck, but did not think I would want that much. I had visions of my garden next spring. Lush green foliage, enormous blooms and all for free. What a friend!

It had been a good many years since I left the farm; with a herd of cattle on it. I was familiar with the product first hand. As a kid, we played hopscotch in the pasture, jumping over the scattered mounds. My sole interest in fertilizer at that time was to make sure my jump was wide enough.

I opted for the full two tons. "Where did I want it?", he asked. He suggested not to put it on the lawn, as it was mid-August, and it - the fertilizer - might get hot and burn the grass. With a small gate leading to the backyard, he reasoned it might take a few days to haul it to the backyard. He was a realist - I was a dreamer. He promised to bring it the following day after work.

Saturday morning began with an air of expectation. By mid-morning, I had breezed through the weekend chores. He came as promised, with the two-ton truck filled to the brim. The drive in front of the garage was chosen as the site to store the two tons of fertilizer. I quickly realized I had no conception of the magnitude of two tons - 4,000 pounds of fertilizer. I moved my car to the curb. He unloaded, and my driveway quickly disappeared.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a neighbor, with mouth ajar, watching the operation. He looked unbelievingly at the mass. Gosh, had he never seen two tons of fertilizer? Well, neither had I, on one driveway.

Undaunted, I grabbed my shovel and a bucket and went to work. The day was still young. The only container I had for removal was a three-gallon bucket. An hour, and many trips later, I rested beneath the mimosa tree to map out a new strategy. I was getting nowhere fast, and the afternoon was extremely warm. I decided a larger receptacle would make for faster removal. I stopped and drove to the grocery store for a large box. However, logic prevailed and I lost a precious thirty minutes, and bathed first, as I felt my presence among the Saturday crowd might result in raised eyebrows. I came back with a large cardboard box.

After the 13th trip, the bottom of the box gave way and spilled the contents all over me. It was a though I had a pebble in my shoe, but this was in both shoes. I sat down upon the grass and patiently emptied my shoes, spreading the contents evenly. The remaining part of the last load never reached the backyard; it joined the contents of my shoes and helped enrich the grass.

I now decided there was another day and walked over to survey my pile to see what I had accomplished. The pile appeared taller, maybe because I could not straighten up.

In the weeks to come, I had the distinction of owning the only driveway on our street with two tons of fertilizer in front of the garage doors. I hoped for a late winter, as I wanted to get the car in the garage before cold weather.

Days began to grow shorter, the nights cooler. September rains came; every Saturday for a month it rained. The pile absorbed moisture and the remaining 2,000 pounds swelled to the original size. Moisture did not improve the aroma. When the wind came out of the south, doors on my side of the street were closed early in the season. A neighbor offered the use of his wheelbarrow, which I gratefully accepted. Maybe it was coincidence, but his house was downwind from my pile.

Any large pile of dirt naturally attracts kids, and my manure was no exception. I told the little people that it was not dirt. One little imp stated it looked like dirt, and was just as much fun to play in and he did not care if he did get dirty. They spread it over a wider area of the driveway. I considered getting them all little sand buckets and shovels suggesting they see how much they could carry to the backyard. The car was still parked in the street.

The first neighbor who showed an interest in my smaller pyramid was surprised at my generosity. He had inquired if I could spare enough for a bed of petunias he planned for next spring. I straightened my shoulders. It was a major effort, but I gave him a big smile, and offered, "Take all you can use - you may use the wheelbarrow to carry it to your garden". He said he had a container and was back in a few minutes with a shoebox. I fervently hoped his petunia would be beautiful.

Late November rolled around, and the now familiar landmark disappeared from Clermont Place. No longer were such directions given - the Browns live three houses down from the house with the fertilizer in the drive, or just drive until you a see a drive with fertilizer in front of the garage door.

I would hesitate if someone offered me this windfall again. Maybe a half ton, but two tons - a resounding NO! I am not nearly as greedy as I was.

Wesley and I are still friends.

[Reprinted from Sooner State Iris News, April - May 1986]