From year to year in the garden, only one thing is for certain, really: No matter what the vegetable and floral harvest, the ground offers up an abundant new crop of rocks throughout the growing season. In this regard, the earth’s yield seems overly generous, abundant beyond all expectations, and-quite frankly-quite annoying.

It happens to even the most fastidious gardener. These rocks, too large to call stones and leave be, too small to call boulders and work around, they demand to be removed from the work area. As the spring progresses toward summer, tidy mounds of stones find themselves accumulating, piled throughout the garden, awaiting the wheelbarrow’s transportation to the nearest stone wall. The practice is ancient, dating to the earliest agrarians, remnants of whose efforts in clearing the land and propagating crops is in the lifeblood of all gardeners.

But who’s complaining about these little piles of stone? We’ll take our share of hauling these stones the garden spits forth each spring and seemingly throughout summer, won’t we? The situation could be far worse, could it not? Occasionally in the garden patch one comes across what has become known in these parts as phantom boulders, those craggy bits of outcropped rocks that, once the digging and prying commences, apparently extend to the innermost recesses of the earth’s core.

If one is careful and thoughtful, even the most ordinary, arduous or tedious of garden tasks lends itself to lessons in character development. Take, for example, the unearthing of unwanted boulders. Not long ago, at the far corner of the garden, an angular mass that resembled a 5-inch miniature mountain projected from the loamy soil. Tugging at it wouldn’t release its grip on the earth. A spade couldn’t pry it out.

It sat precisely in the way of a raised bed planned for that particular stretch of ground. Standing over the spot, gazing upon the stony outcropping conjured thoughts of icebergs: It caused one to wonder – to ponder deeply – what lies beneath? Tapping at the edge of the stone with the business end of a spade reported hollow-sounding tunes that suggested a willing digger might just see to getting to the bottom of the unsightly heap of hard earth.

It didn’t matter, really, if anyone was willing to dig. That wicked, most likely near-endless shaft of stone had to be moved.

So with all the proper equipment – a digging spade, a pair of leather work gloves and an enormous pry bar that in its own right is darn near impossible to lift, this gardener started in on the beastly mass in early morning. Dig, move around, dig, move some more. Test looseness by using the pry bar as a lever. Nothing. Dig, move around, dig, move some more. This nonsense went on for over an hour.

As the physical work droned on, the mind wandered. Incessant similes and metaphors came and went from the mind. This digging had its own lessons to teach and it seemed a solid and pleasant connection to the past and future – I’m not the first and I won’t be the last to dig stones from this patch.

Dig. Pry. Dig. Pry.

At one point, a neighbor coasted by, waving from his truck and yelling out the window, “You look like you could use some help with that thing!” I grunted at him, not wanting to waste energy on talk and he didn’t bother to stop either, sensing from the look he got that this business was between me and the rock.

More digging, more prying.

When all was said and done, the boulder was too large for a grown man to wrap his arms around, and about 18 inches deep. In a way we often feel but seldom are willing to verbalize, I felt triumphant. These little battles that occasionally are won over nature add to a sense of invincibility that is simultaneously splendid and silly.

Thanks to the massive subterranean boulders that occasionally present themselves, I have grown over time in some ways to be more patient and less rigid. This will-testing rock digging, it’s interesting and amusing to me. After years as a working farm, this land continues to yield forth an abundant crop of variously sized rocks, which, although inedible, offers a tasty sampling of mental food for the willing consumer.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, 512 North Ridge Road, Montville 04941 or e-mail dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.