Gardening in South Dakota is a gambler’s game

“The sun’s rays are slanting across the gray winter grass in our yard. Beside the old shop, my son plants long nails in the dirt, carefully pretending to pound each one with a hammer. Next to him, his dad does the same, only it’s not pretend. “Clonk, Clonk, Clonk,” the heavy sound of metal on wood echoes through the cooling air, and bounces back to where I sit. Slowly, one slat at a time, a small…