The ragweed and lamb's quarters are taller than I am, I can't find the potatoes, the sweet corn is knee high, nine out of ten tomatoes are split, the cucumber plants are wilted, and most of the squash never germinated. If you visit me, I will not take you up to see my garden. I will deny even having a garden.

How did it come to this? In January I pored over the seed catalogs with anticipation. Using last year's Carbon County Fair premium book, I ordered one packet of seeds for each vegetable variety listed. The veggies pictured in the Burpee and Harris catalogs were an inspiration. Every one looked like a winner. Stick the seeds in the ground, wait a few months, and I'd be taking home a pile of blue ribbons.

I was off to a good start. I put down a layer of horse manure supplemented with nitrogen-rich chicken droppings. Gordy, the farmer who grows corn and soybeans on our fields, plowed the half-acre plot. I had a new tire installed on our old Farmall H (c. 1954), followed by rewiring and a major tuneup. I was ready.

In addition, last year we purchased a piece of machinery called a "Kentucky cultivator." It has a large wheel in front, two handles in back, and, as you push it along, the cultivator blades rip up the weeds. It looks like the old horse cultivators you see in Amish country, except there's no horse. Serfs were using them in 900 A.D.

In the meantime I had been pruning our trees with a two-handled lopper. I overdid it and damaged my rotator cuffs in both shoulders. It was impossible to push the Kentucky cultivator. The weeds began to grow.

Then came the mini-drought in June and July. No rain for weeks, along with days of hot dry wind. Squash seeds had enough moisture to sprout, then died. Okra was stunted. I could run a hose up there and irrigate, but I was worried that our well might run dry.

Insects and diseases followed. The eggplant leaves looked like fine lace. The cucumber leaves turned grey. My garden is not "certified organic," but I don't use insecticides or fungicides, although I'm rethinking that policy.

When the rains did come, they were gully washers. That's when the tomatoes split open. The weeds, meanwhile, grew like jungle plants. It turns out that horse manure is loaded with weed seeds from the hay the horses eat.

The one bright spot has been the peppers. I had used a plastic weed barrier, both expensive and time-consuming, but it worked. I pride myself on being an environmentalist, and the use of plastic bothers me. On the other hand, the section with the plastic is the one part of the garden where I can see the vegetables.

For me, gardening is a hobby. I lose some money on seeds and don't win many ribbons at the fair. It's not that big a deal. The guys I feel bad for are those midwest farmers whose corn has shriveled to the point where it can't even be used for silage.

I won't say anything about the continuing rise in global temperatures and the change in the climate. If you don't know about that by now, you are simply in denial.

What are the lessons from the garden debacle?

1. Even in a bad year, some plants do fine. My peppers are looking good.
2. Don't fertilize with horse manure.
3. Don't expect to use a Kentucky cultivator with rotator cuff injuries.
4. Quit being a purist—use more plastic weed barrier.
5. Move the garden to a new field. The cucumber and pumpkin wilt may be in the soil.
6. Use higher stakes to mark the rows. I can't find some of them in the weeds.
7. Remember that next January a new cycle starts.

Roy Christman