Midwesterners of a certain age all longed to play the Grand Prize Game. Many of us were even taken to The Bozo Show. Some of us have not yet been allowed to live down their appearance.
But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that everyone wanted to play the Grand Prize Game because at the end, you got a fifty dollar bill (later, I’m sure, it was a hundred). I ask you, America, who couldn’t use a brand new fifty dollar bill?
Anyway, I was finishing off my garden planting this evening and all I had left was the big bed. The big bed is broken into six parts. The three three sisters I’ve got going, some cantalope, and two patches of fancy-pants marigolds. This will allow me to rotate where I plant my corn, so that it’s only in the same spot every other year. And so I dutifully marked off my six squares and then made three concentric squares in my three sisters’ plots.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Of course I stood there staring at my concentric squares being all convinced that now, every time I see any concentric squares, I’m being cued in to some great secret of the universe.
But what I want you to see is tht all of the three sisters had some spaces that were hard to get to unless you wanted to step on the beds, which I really did not want to do.
And so, I had to put my toes right on the edge and lean ever so slightly forward and toss the seeds where I wanted them to go in the hoed out squares. And as I tossed those little seeds farther and farther away from me, I had a moment of realization–THIS is really why we play the Grand Prize Game. We’re reenacting this in game form.
And I felt as one with my ancestors.
Ha ha ha ha ha.