(please don’t) Take me out to the ballgame. lindseywb on Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
Have you ever watched a televised baseball game held at an outdoor stadium and marveled at the intricate patterns on the field? Maybe that’s just how my mind works during an endless game of America’s favorite pastime. At some point (probably around the 10th inning during a game with “bonus panels”) I was even curious enough to investigate matters more closely. My search turned up books, websites, and trade articles, dedicated to specialized equipment and benders bars, and complicated explanations about refracted light and optimized viewing points. Now that’s interesting.
In case you haven’t guessed, I’m not a baseball buff. I am a gardener standing alone in a family of die-hard fans. “Take Me Out to The Ballgame” is a hymn in our family —both the soundtrack of the Father/Daughter Dance at the wedding of our first born, and now a lullaby sung to her twins. My beloveds are true fans.
I am a fan of fans.
My field of dreams.
Again and again, and again, again.
I have a theory about baseball and gardening. There is a sameness to both practices — Pitch, hit, run… Plant, tend, harvest…
Both baseball and gardening are constants around our house—cause and effect or coincidence that the two seasons overlap almost seamlessly. My husband’s “hobby job” at the ballpark where he hosts guests in seats right behind home plate, regularly puts him among his people. I am a garden writer. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the place where these two seemingly disparate arts touch.
Years ago, I heard a radio interview with someone comparing the exquisite redundancy of sportswriters and garden writers — both are telling the same story over and over, year in and year out.
I’m truly sorry that I don’t remember the person being interviewed who came up with this insight—I was driving. Sometimes I pull over and scribble a note on a scrap of paper, but in this instance, I was making a tricky merge onto the freeway. The fact that I remember exactly where I was when I heard this truth, is a measure of its import in my life. Ever since that day, whenever I write about gardens I try to channel Dave Niehaus, one of the Pacific Northwest’s most beloved baseball announcers.
Mr. Niehaus called baseball with genuine passion. He loved the game and its followers in equal measure. Completely understandable—the beauty and promise of each growing season sets me and my gardening friends buzzing. I may consider a game that drags on for 3+ hours less than scintillating, but those around me likely feel the same way listening to me rant about the weather and rave about sweet peas or the first garden salad. Really? lettuce?
As a storyteller, Mr. Niehaus made this non-fan listen. His stories were fresh, they had color, and most importantly, they had a human connection. His voice was true, he made us care.
Even the twins have been won over to the family’s favorite pastime, I expect it’s largely because of the snacks.
I want my garden stories to connect with gardeners and deepen the relationship with nature that develops when you tend to a plot of land. I write about seasonal rhythms, botanical wins—and losses, as well as tales of great love—and tedium. Familiar territory to anyone with dirty nails and awkward tan lines. But deep down, I want to tell stories that make non-gardeners sit up and pay attention to the beauty around us. I want people to care about the natural world.
Meeting a hero
Many years ago, I was a guest on a local radio show answering garden questions called in by listeners, no doubt weather and lettuce were discussed. Friends and family support my vocation even if they don’t always know (or care) what I’m talking about. But I had their rapt attention when I told them that I’d met the great Dave Niehaus as he arrived at the studio to go on air right after me. I shook his hand (!!) and told him I lived deeply among his fans. I’m sure he heard that all the time. I’m sure it never got old.
Thirteen years ago, Seattle, the Mariners franchise, and more importantly those I love, were rocked with loss when Mr. Niehaus unexpectedly died on a cold November day. Among the many remembrances and tributes that poured in from around the region, Seattle Times columnist Steve Kelly wrote: “He could be calling a baseball game, and it would seem as if literature broke out.” I can think of no higher praise.
Rest in peace Mr. Niehaus and thank you for clarifying one of life’s great mysteries for me.
Sweet peas and salads are a win in my garden.
Who knew gardening, baseball, and writing could be knit together in a (very) entertaining article? “Too many writers? Hah! Pursuits that can produce Ring Lardner or Henry Mitchell are rich, indeed. And, you, Ms. Forkner, are a pretty fair dinkum scrivener yourself!
Ah – many thanks! And just to prove due diligence — I looked up Ring Lardner. Imagine Mr. Neihaus and Mr. Lardner calling the game in the sky~
“Dirty nails and awkward tan lines”, describe me to a T!
badge of honor
Get in touch with Neil Sperry, Texas gardening radio host, whose dad worked on growing grass for Astrodome for another garden-baseball connection.
(Why is baseball America’s favorite pastime. Why can’t we be like Jamaica who’s favorite pastime is sex? Bob Hope).
Cool! Once I missed out on a photo opportunity with the head groundskeeper of a team that won the World Series. I got sick and had to cancel the trip/junket to Florida. I have no idea which team it was.
“The redundancy of sports and garden writers”, love that. It’s so true and yet we all devour it with great relish. I love the stories and this one will stick with me for a long while.
Love that… pass it on! I can’t be the only lone gardener in a house of baseball~
Yes, as a non baseball fan, I too have been captivated by the patterns in the grass! Such devotion your family has to the game! And what an accurate observation about the redundant nature of ball game and garden writing. Thank you for this wonderful read today!
I suppose it goes without saying, that my loved ones aren’t necessarily my biggest readers. But you can bet they’ll all read this when I pass the link along~ Thank you for your kind words.
Lorene, I love the parallel tracks of gardening and baseball that you explained so well. I listened to ball games on the radio before televised sports came into play in the early 60s. Ed Kallay called Louisville Colonels minor league games on hot and humid summer nights. The ball players came alive on a little transistor radio with the window fan blowing in the background.
I can hear the fan and the crack of the bat… Thank you Allen
Beautifully written! That had me smiling the entire time.