Confessions of a Cold-Blooded Killer 

May  29, 2025

I listened carefully as Jim, the technician, explained the operation of the machine.

“Just pull this lever, engage this gear, and you should be good to go.”

I carefully reviewed the instructions in my mind as I drove the tractor out to the field at the Lacombe Research Station, where I was employed as a summer student. Although I was raised on a farm and had experience with lots of different types of farm equipment, Dad had never allowed me the privilege of operating a seed drill. This was to be the first time in my short 18 years of life that I was trusted with the responsibility. It would be a good introduction, as I would be seeding a plot of no more than a few acres.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Jim, my technician mentor, informed me that only a small part of the field had actually been seeded. The evidence was pretty clear—only the first part of the field came up, while the rest was covered in a nice crop of weeds!

It was a few years later that I began to suspect I was not a trustworthy person to be put in charge of plants. Indeed, I began to suspect that there was a curse on me when it came to the care of plants of any description.

“Remember to water the pots and hanging baskets when I am away—especially if it gets hot!” Doreen reminded me as she left for a few days away from home.

And it did get hot! You would think I’d have seen that poor plant, wilting in the sun as I walked by it every day, blissfully unaware that it had entered its death throes. By the time Doreen returned, there was nothing left but a dried-up stalk. Further evidence of the curse!

Since then, I have carefully avoided, as much as possible, any duty of care for members of the plant kingdom. Oh, I help out as much as I can—we planted the vegetable garden a few days ago, and I was there, helping to prepare the soil, to rake, and to mark the rows. But I was careful not to touch the seeds, lest my curse befall the poor peas, beans, and zucchini.

There is one consolation to all this, however. As I am somewhat deficient with plants, I have become observant—and perhaps a little jealous—of those who have a green thumb. And I have noticed a few things about them.

Plant people tend to be patient. Like raising children, you don’t get instant results from plants. Instead, you must invest your time, your energy, and even a certain amount of devotion. You must be a nurturer, carefully watching the weather and providing the necessities of plant life.

In fact, I’ve come to the conviction that I’ve discovered a very good test of character. For example, when applying for a job, instead of asking for references, the employer need only ask one question to determine if the applicant is trustworthy or not:

“Are you a gardener?”

It’s a good thing that I’m retired. For certain, if that had been the test, I’m sure I would have been permanently unemployed!