from 5/3/2010:

By Quintin Ellison

If I had a knack for writing poetry, which mercifully for you the reader I am aware that I most certainly do not, I’d write this essay in verse. I’d title it, “Ode to the Five-Gallon Bucket.”

Since my talents don’t lie in that direction, however, simple prose must suffice. So let us herein give praise to the five-gallon bucket, that most useful of tools for the home gardener, farmer, homesteader, what have you.

Yesterday, this simple container served me in the following ways: To tote weeds to the compost pile; to carry rocks from my garden, because I’ve been forbidden from pitching them into a nearby culvert after we recently paid a trackhoe operator (or so I’m informed) Big Sums of Money For No Good Reason to clean said ditch because of my previous rock-clearing efforts; to cover the tiller’s motor because rain was expected; as a rabbit-manure container while cleaning the pens; and as a gut bucket (sorry, but I did mention rabbits, and they aren’t pets).

Doesn’t my list make you marvel? All that in just one day, and from such a rudimentary farm instrument – simply think of what a person and her five-gallon bucket could accomplish in a week, a month, or better yet, a year.

It is important to note that I didn’t use the same bucket to accomplish all of these tasks. In a vague salute to my training as a journalist and my overall penchant for facts, I actually went downstairs to where we store the buckets and counted them for the purposes of this column - a gesture I believe that demonstrates admirable zeal.

There were 33 five-gallon buckets, plus a large assortment of smaller containers I did not feel the compulsion to enumerate. The count does not include five-gallon buckets in the garden holding homemade fish emulsion, or other ones in everyday use that are scattered about the farm. It started to rain, and as a columnist – a more rarified personage, you understand, than a mere fact-gathering reporter – I went back inside to stay dry.

I admit owning this many buckets is probably a sign of excess, akin perhaps to my need to buy all the books written by whichever author is currently reigning as my favorite; or of devouring every cookie in the bag despite knowing perfectly well that Someone Else Would Occasionally Enjoy Eating One Too.

But, that said, I maintain you really can’t own too many five-gallon buckets. It is nice to have one at hand when a container is called for, and you certainly don’t want to co-mingle certain bucket tasks. A bucket used in the morning to hold rabbit manure, for instance, is not the one to grab come evening when it is time to harvest dinner. Using a black Sharpie pen and writing “manure” or “food grade” on the sides is an excellent method of ensuring there aren’t distasteful mistakes.

We’ve gotten most of our buckets from the bakery department of the local grocery store. Our store gives them away free, a customer-friendly gesture I appreciate. Others in the region aren’t so generous. They sometimes charge a few dollars per bucket.

The buckets we get usually have the pleasant odor of icing still clinging to them, and are sometimes slightly sticky to the touch. Until the smell and tackiness wears off we have to keep a close eye on the dogs.

If given the opportunity, they will ruin the sanctity of a good food-grade bucket with one quick lick, and they’ve never been bothered yet to use a black Sharpie to write “contaminated with German Shorthaired pointer spit” on the side.

Ellison is an award-winning journalist who now lives and farms with her family in a small cove just outside Bryson City. Contact her through www.balltownbeefarm.com.