Lithograph made in World War II by the Stecher-Traung Lithograph Corp., Library of Congress. One of many prints issued by the government promoting gardens as a way for civilians to survive the then-existing food shortages.

“Fill the bathtub with water,” my wife yells in a high crescendo while gesturing with her hands as if she is has me by the ears and is trying to shake some sense into me. Naturally, being a good husband, I treat this cry for help with all the love, and all the care, and all the kindness of a respectful relationship — I scoff.

Yup, scoffing — scornful mocking to be exact — is my go-to choice. Scoffing is probably not taught in pre-marriage courses these days. Too bad. Nothing shows good listening skills, compassion for your partner, and loving communication like a well-placed scoff. It’s dismissive. It’s lazy. And its use is a guarantee that you are wrong. And your scoff will be resurrected for . . . let’s see, the next 32 years . . . as Exhibit 1 at your trial for being a dope.

But scoff I do. And I don’t fill the tub back in the summer of 1993.

The 1993 floods come. We lose water for a long time. And my wife and three kids look longingly at the empty bathtub as we scramble to find water to flush toilets. I was vilified by one and all. And, yes, I did win the 1993 award for WHO NOT TO DEPEND ON IN A CRISIS.

And here we are today.

We are old. We get social security from the feds. We get a state pension from the State. We have a fine retirement. But, and here’s where the rubber meets the road, the powers that be are dancing around the idea of blowing up government pensions. Yup, Ebenezer Scrooge has won and WE ARE THE SURPLUS POPULATION THAT NEEDS TO BE DECREASED.

I get it. How many old guys milling around the bakery counters at grocery stores do you need?

“I think we should put in a big garden,” my wife pronounces. She wants a Victory Garden just like in World War II. She believes this Victory Garden will stave off the nuclear detonation of our budget.

“What a great idea.”

This is my new favorite phrase because at my age there is a real possibility I’ll die before any plan comes to fruition. It’s a win win in my book.

But, just so you know, I hate gardening. My siblings and I grew up helping my mom take care of large gardens as she canned and froze and dried produce for our big family. It was hard, unsatisfying work that was always hot, bug-ridden, sweat-dripping, and itchy. Yuck. And don’t green beans grow in the can section of the grocery store anyway?

I need professional help — professional gardening help.

Kathy Byrnes Fallon and Ed Fallon started Birds & Bees Urban Farm in 2019. If you go to their website (team), they promise to educate even someone like me about urban farming. Great.

“Ed and I have our whole adult life have been food producers. When we got together, we built raised beds at our home here in Sherman Hills to add to the raised beds Ed had already built. People who passed were curious about the space. We had chickens in the back. We had bees. People were interested.”

Kathy speaks clearly and carefully, like the high school English teacher she was for 14 years. If she was in a black habit, she’d be a dead ringer for my favorite teacher back when I was in seventh grade, Sister Timothy Mary, who is probably still singing Woodie Guthrie songs and organizing marches up in heaven.

“So I ditched my job and started an urban farm as an educational nonprofit.”

Of course you did.

And what do you offer the public?

“We have for several years taught workshops. We have a nine-month, yard-to-table workshop. We meet monthly and go through all the plans, growing, and harvesting for the year. We have single workshops like how to build and plant a cold frame or how to make a compost container or introduction to backyard chickens.”

“We have recently been speaking up for local urban agriculture in light of the need for it with climate change, and unpredictable supply chain situations and it being just more earth friendly and friendly to your body. For example, there was a recent push to ban backyard roosters. We got very busy fighting against that, including a chicken parade around City Hall.”

Okay, this conversation has gotten way out of control. I dislike gardening and I particularly dislike chickens that can talk back to you and aren’t wrapped in plastic in the meat section at the grocery store.

So I thank Kathy for the information, but I do tell her about my original sin with failing to fill the bathtub with water during the 1993 flood.

Kathy laughs.

“I tease Ed because he has so many saved jugs full of water in the basement it is encroaching on our territory. I have to part the Red Sea to get through the basement.”

And there’s your answer, dear wife.

Do your self-defense gardening. Go to a class with Ed and Kathy. Plant those tomato seeds. I will not scoff once. I promise.

But the real lesson from all this?

The next time we lose water . . . I’m raiding Ed Fallon’s basement.

Joe