No time for a long meditation today, ladies and gents. I am typing this with freeze-dried chicken poop stuck under my nails, and you know what that means: I’m gardening.
There was torrential rain and then an unexpected late freeze over the weekend, so instead of planting my garden in timely manner I hoarded all my unplanted seedlings indoors, hoping I didn’t get busted for being a drug house, and am in the middle of planting them all right now. My dear Michael is going out to dig up the remainder of our yard right now before it gets soaked again. The only reason he didn’t dig it all up yesterday is that the shovel broke just after the last bus left, so he had to walk a mile to the Dollar General for a new one. You’ll be pleased to know that the lettuce, Romaine, kale, onions and peas survived the frost, though I did get one of our good bedsheets muddy covering them. I was outside on my hands and knees at eleven o’clock last night planting zucchini, tomatoes and corn by moonlight, so if they develop strange magical properties that will be amusing. Today we’ve got to finish digging, raking and fertilizing and then put in the cucumber, cauliflower, broccoli, eggplant and three kinds of beans. Pumpkins and a fourth variety of beans come later this month and I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something important. Sometimes I overdo things. But anyway, if you’re in the neighborhood this summer, stop by for a salad or some ratatouille.
In frivolous good news, one of the scary thornbushes at the outskirts of our yard turned out to be a rose bush; it has several buds already. I love roses, but we’ve never been rich enough to afford to plant something you can’t eat. Thank you as always, dear Saint Therese.
And here’s the meditative gardening music I’ll be humming all afternoon.
(image: detail from “Vertumnus” by Guiseppe Archimboldo, 1590)
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