For reasons beyond my own comprehension, I’ve felt compelled to start a garden at the new house.
I’m not a gardener. I’m not overly concerned with organics. I don’t like bugs or being hot. In short: I’m not outdoorsy.
Yet the desire remains. D fully encourages it and enjoys the opportunity to make various jokes about “hoes”. Ahem.
He even bought me a gardening magazine that I haven’t read, but the pictures are real pretty.
What I’m saying is that besides pinning a few ideas, I have yet to make a concerted effort to make my dream garden a reality. That is, until our neighbor came over the other day. He was tilling? plowing? hoeing? his own garden and asked if we’d decided where we’d like ours to go. I mumbled something about tomatoes and waved my arm in the general direction. D gave vague instructions as to the size, and our sweet neighbor tilled? plowed? hoed? us a garden bed.
It is 10×20, and I know I’m new to this gig, but that seems awful big. Feeding an army big. Having to learn how to can things big.
But I’m up for the challenge, I guess. As long as the weather is nice and it doesn’t get too windy.
Here’s another view so you can kind of see where everything is. We own all the road frontage to the right of this pic, and those red gates are the entrance to the driveway.
Which reminds me. While the neighbor was over, his little boy came to chat and was all “Hey Amy, which tree did you back in to?” le sigh.. I shall never live it down. See that clump of trees? That evil, hateful clump of trees the driveway winds through? That was the site of my little accident.
But I’m happy to report that
I, my ego, the bank account, the car is fully recovered.
I may have to sell my plethera of fruits and veggies to make up for that one.