I was looking forward to planting the garden this year. I come from a long line of farmers, and there's something about sowing and reaping that is just soothing to the soul. Plus, as I have previously mentioned here, I have many long, meditative conversations with Mr. Spock, Lieutenant Commander of the USS Enterprise, while planting and weeding. I had to admit, I'd missed that pointed-eared hobgoblin over the winter.
Jason tilled our plot, and I was ready to go , map in hand. I had the onions near the broccoli, the gourds in back near the eggplant, and the corn, of course, in a square section as opposed to rows so they would pollenate better. "Admirable," my Gardening Spock whispered softly when he saw my plan.
It was a long day of staking tomato plants, parceling out radish seeds, and forming mounds for the cucumbers. I accidentally stepped on one of the zucchini plants, breaking its stalk. "Leave it," Spock pronounced in my mind. "A stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential." Sounded good to me. I mentally high-fived Spock and continued digging holes.
I was sweating, slightly sunburned, and definately dehydrated when I squatted down in the dirt to plant the potatoes. It was the last thing on my list, and I was feeling giddy. Out of nowhere, a mosquito the size of a Boeing landed on my back. I whipped around, trying desperately to remove it from my skin before it sucked me dry of blood. That's when I felt my knee—my bad knee—twist sideways. Uh-oh.
"The hell that's not good," Spock said. Truer words were never spoken.
I limped back in to the house, a little worried that my kneecap was now on the side of my leg. "That's not logical," Spock admitted in a monotone, and I thought, "No kidding, genius!" He suggested I try to push my kneecap back where it belonged. "Are you out of your Vulcan mind?" I shouted. My gardening Spock went silent. Clearly, I had offended the half-human part of him.
I know Spock isn't happy with me, what with the weeds coming in with the corn and me being unable to kneel to pull them up. But in this case, Spock isn't the Star Trek character for the job.
My appointment with Bones to fix my knee is Tuesday. Sometimes, you just have to be logical.

When I'm gardening, I often hear a sage voice in my head, instructing me on how to sow and reap properly.  No, it's not my father, the farmer, nor my mother, the science teacher.  The voice I hear is Mr. Spock, First Officer of the USS Enterprise.
I don't know why Leonard Nimoy's voice should be my copilot as I weed, but there he always is, advising me on my tomato crops and onion bulbs.  When I'm trying to weed the corn (and spotting the difference between newly sprouted corn and grass is kind of like trying to find a tick in a bowl full of watermelon seeds,) Mr. Spock is there.  "Simply pull up everything that isn't corn," he recommends.  "Whatever remains, however improbable, must be corn."
When something got at the tomato plants, and Jason cursed the rabbits and woodchucks in the yard, Spock was right there, whispering in my head.  "It simply isn't logical," he pointed out.  "The damage is to the top of the plants, not low to the ground where the rabbits are.  The logical conclusion ... is deer."
I love my Imaginary Gardening Spock.  He keeps me company as I weed and mulch, hoe and dig.  When I hesitated to thin out the lettuce, Mr. Spock was right there, pointing out my folly.  "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one," he said solemnly.  He was right.  In order to help the stronger lettuce heads survive, I had to pull out the smaller, yellowed ones. 
The ridiculousness that a fictional television character helps me make my most important gardening decisions is not lost on me. I mean, you have to ask: what does a half-Vulcan know about New England gardening techniques, anyway? I honestly don't knowhow he knows, but really, he's always right on.  I have to assume he must have studied Earth's agricultural patterns at some point in his travels.
Personally, I'm awfully thankful that Mr. Spock pops up in my head when I'm weeding (although I find it interesting that he usually waits until I'm about to pass out from sunstroke before he makes his imaginary presence known.) I'm honored that he takes the time to make sure I properly mulch the potatoes or water the peppers.  I can only imagine that he simply wants to ensure that my garden lives long...and prospers.