UP FRONT: Freedom comes with the first frost

It’s kind of sad to walk out one morning after a killing frost and witness the carnage of the garden you’ve tended with such loving care the past several months.

The wilted beans, the blackened squash and the zinnias that look like a bunch of old ladies with bad hair. The frost was inevitable but what’s frustrating is that, usually, the weather warms back up again after the first frost and you could still be reaping the benefits of your garden if it hadn’t gone the way of a Halloween graveyard.

But I’m reminded of what an old friend told me years ago: Freedom is when the kids leave home and the dog dies.

Freedom is when the garden frosts and you’re back to frozen pizza and dining out.

Or, as the late, great Kris Kristofferson put it: Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. I doubt Kris was thinking about his garden when he wrote that line, but you never know.

Gardening is pure joy but it ties you down worse than having kids. With kids you can always send them off to the neighbor’s or to stay with grandma for a couple of weeks.

Just try leaving your garden for a day or two in the heat of summer and you’ll find out about nothing left to lose. It’s like having a whole yard full of baby birds, all chirping to be fed and you’re the mama robin who has to dig up the worms to feed their hungry mouths.

I took a trip for a couple of weeks this summer and I had to board out the dogs and get a sitter for the cats. No problem.

I had to hire a home health care nurse for the garden. It required daily watering, tending, weeding and initial harvesting and, let me tell you, it ain’t beans to get that all done right.

When I got home it was just as the garden was going into labor. All of a sudden the zucchini and the beans popped out. The tomatoes ripened and I had to watch the beets and carrots carefully and snatch them away before the squirrels got to them.

Somebody teased me by saying: “Do you have the garden or does the garden have you?” and I replied: “Very funny — not.”

At the height of harvest I reaped baskets full of fresh produce, which I spread around the ’hood to neighbors who weren’t all that appreciative since they were also trying to unload their own excess produce. I canned enough tomatoes and pickles and applesauce to last me through Armageddon and took out a small loan to pay for all the canning lids.

Finally, the frost came and put an end to all that abundance. And for a moment I felt sad. Then I came to my senses. Now that I’m no longer tethered to a vegetable overlord there’s a whole new world of possibilities opening up.

In other words: freedom because there’s nothing left to lose.

Hedberg may be contacted at khedberg@lmtribune.com.