Read by Michael Flamel

There’s an old joke that goes: How do you know if someone is a gardener? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you. Gardeners are a proud bunch, always quick to remind you that their job is a mosaic of roles—handyman, cropper, weeder, meteorologist, caretaker, and, as I recently discovered, a carpenter of raised beds.

I spent my summer in southern Ohio, hammering two-by-fours together on the concrete patio in my backyard. I called it a Home Depot MacGyver—turning a box of nails and some shabby wooden planks into one of those fancy raised beds every gardener south of the Arctic seems to have.

It wasn’t easy. My left thumb became an inadvertent victim of my enthusiasm, and by the time I had two sides nailed together into what looked like a mangled wooden origami-monstrosity (a carpenter’s worst nightmare), I realized I had no idea what I was doing. But I forged on, with the pioneering spirit and grit of the first American settlers on the Oregon Trail. Like them, I thought: “This might kill me, but what the hell.”

Sweat ran into my eyes. Before I started gardening, I never knew it was possible to sweat so much while squatting in one place. The sun felt like a hot, dry towel draped over my neck. I was on the verge of passing out, but thankfully, Mom—God bless her—brought me a glass of water. I finished it in one long gulp. My fun Summer project had turned into a hellish ordeal, and I doubted I could finish it in one day.

That night, as I sat on a Monobloc chair on the patio, nursing a Dr. Pepper and listening to the crickets chirp, my eyes kept coming back to the pale ghost of my abandoned project in the middle of the yard. It was an eyesore, but I decided that the only thing worse than a poorly made gardening bed was half of one lying in your backyard.

I was back at it early the next morning, my industrious racket designating me as “That One Neighbor” as I pounded and pummeled nails to finish my creation. After dumping four bags of compost inside, it looked like a veritable bathtub of rich soil. The planting went smoothly, but I knew I’d be away at college while they grew.

“Was it all worth it?” I wondered. As I winced at the ache in my back, the soreness in my shoulders, and the bruise on my thumb, the answer seemed uncertain. Even after the long drive to South Florida, after my parents waved goodbye in the parking lot, and after a chaotic freshman orientation in the school cafeteria, my mind was still undecided. But after a long, lonely semester with three insomniac roommates, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I let out an enormous breath of relief when finals were over. Dad picked me up at the airport, and we drove home in the congenial silence that only a father and son can share. It was evening when we reached the driveway. The sky was a broad, deep blue, and there was the first heady chill in the air that signifies Winter.

As I sat with my family in the living room, having dinner for the first time in months, I turned and stared out the sliding glass doors to the backyard. Incredibly, it had been transformed into a small rainforest. I looked at my parents in astonishment. They only smiled.

“Can I—?” I asked. They nodded.

I stepped out into the backyard, and there it was. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in gardening, it’s that there is no pleasure greater than the one you make for yourself. Coming home to see your garden forested by waist-high mustard leaves and sunflowers so big and tall their heads begin to bow over really makes you appreciate all the wonders nature can bring.

And sometimes, hard work really does pay off. ❖

About the Author: Brandon Yu is a gardening enthusiast and storyteller who finds humor and inspiration in the trials and tribulations of backyard projects. Raised in southern Ohio, Brandon’s Summer adventures often turn into tales of perseverance and unexpected triumph. When not hammering together makeshift garden beds, Brandon enjoys sharing his gardening experiences and lessons with others, reminding us all that a little hard work can lead to the most rewarding harvests.