Feed me, Seymour!

While this is my first garden, this was not my first attempt at growing things.

Last year, during the spring, I planted in a long plastic pot rosemary, basil, and thyme.  (Feel free to hum the song here.)  In a regular terracotta pot, I planted mint.  They all grew merrily and much cooking and tea-making happened.

Then we proceeded to have one of the hottest summers in decades.

We were hitting over one hundred degrees before the heat index.  While summers here are miserably hot at times, they aren't usually quite like that.  Apparently, the Earth decided to move closer to the sun for a few months.

Despite the harsh conditions, the herbs thrived, however, so long as I watered them every day without fail.  Well, there was one scare during the Great Green Worm Plague in July when I discovered the leaves on my mint were starting to resemble lattice work.  I flipped over a  chewed upon leaf and discovered a small, green worm.  I picked it off, cursed it, and tossed it into the yard.  Then I discovered another.  And, another.  Over a period of two days, I picked fifteen of the little bastards off of my mint.  I tried to figure out what they were or how they managed to get on a plant that sits on a pot on a brick wall, but their identification remains a mystery even now.  All I know is it took several weeks for my mint to recover.  Other than that, all was well.

Then, tragedy struck: I got sick.

I have a proclivity towards bronchitis, and it always seems to follow a cold.  I don't know why a common cold will crawl into my chest and die, but it's something of which I have to be exceedingly mindful.  Sometimes, I can head it off at the pass.  Not that time.

For a solid week, I was in bed, which meant my plants didn't get watered.  I suppose I could've asked my husband to do it for me, but I just didn't think about it.  I was too busy trying to not cough up my lungs.

Let's just say when I went out to check on my plants after my recovery I discovered a graveyard.

Fast forward to March.

I went out to check the mail, and actually glanced down at the remains of my herbs.  Then, I did a double-take.  There was green in the mint pot, and I'm not talking mold.  I picked it up and inspected the tiny plants.  Mother Hubbard and her damn dog!  The mint was coming back!

This was my first experience with an undead plant.  When a zombie rises out of the grave, it's usually on the hunt for living flesh.  Did this mean I needed to keep my fingers and small dogs away from it?  Was it suddenly going sing a show tune about how I need to feed it a sadistic dentist?  Mint has a bit of weed in it in that if you plant it in the ground, it will take over your yard and possibly the neighborhood.  So, I wondered, when you have a plant that can invade like the Mongols and cheat death like Keith Richards, what do you do with it?

Sane people would probably suggest burning it.

I ignored it.

Several weeks later, this is what I got:

Braaaaaaaaains

I decided it was best to not introduce it to the garden in case it infected the others.  Last thing I need is a horde of undead plants eating the neighbors.  Can you see explaining that to the police?

Me:  Why no officer, I have no idea where she went.
Officer:  Then, can you explain why there is a finger in your mint plant?
Me:  I'm sorry, sir.  I've told it many times that flipping off people is rude, but you know how plants are, no respect for authority...

Thankfully, the evil, tasty though it is, is contained for now.

However, if it does start using show tunes to demand blood, it will have a date with the grill.




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If you don't get the movie reference, then you lead a very sad, sheltered life.  Although, the original was a far better film.

Well, at least they don't turn into zombies

Okay, so feeling better today.  I decided it was a good day to really go and inspect the sproutlings to make sure they are actually what I planted and not invaders.

This is easier said than done since I don't know what any of the plants I started from seed are supposed to look like.  I tried doing research on the Great Internets, but if I found any pictures at all they were of plants far older than my own.  Before the next garden, I'm going to play a gardening book with pictures, lots and lots of pictures.

This year, I'm pretty much guessing.  I figure if it's several plants that look alike growing in a row, then it's a very good chance it's something I planted.  Of course, the other way to tell is to let it grow and see if it bears fruit I recognize, but that's a long wait.

The seed packets with their cheerful bits of information (when to plant, how far apart to plant, when to thin out, etc) seem to skip over the whole "oh by the way this is what they will look like when they grow so you don't weed them out accidentally" part.  And, that's the other problem: I have to make damn sure I know what I'm looking at before I weed or I risk tossing a wanted plant into the compost pile.  That would make me cry.  A lot.

Of course, here's an endorsement for container gardening.  You are less likely to get undesirable plants in your veggies and flowers, but I feel like there are more limitations to container gardening.  Okay, I'm going by just a generalized view of it, which means I need to do research.  So, I promise to do that and write up a comparison in the future.

But, for now, I've got the problem of leftover weed roots trying to sprout into new plants mixing in with my veggies and herbs, and some of them I can't tell the difference.  I suppose it would've helped had I mulched, but it just wasn't feasible at the time.  A client informed me that eventually, if I keep weeding and if I cover the ground during the winter, that eventually I will have a nice clean slate when I go to plant, but that takes time.  An additional level to the problem is that with all the torrential rains and flooding, I'm not entirely sure some of tinier more shallow seeds just simply didn't wash away.  Oh, sure, those tiny plants where the chard should be could be chard, or it could be just weeds teasing me.  Without a solid reference there is no real way for me to tell right now.

Thankfully, the bigger, heartier sprouts are easy.  You just can't miss the beans or the pumpkin.  (Of course, the pumpkin is growing out of a great bloody mound, but that's beside the point.)  I think next year, though, I'm going to buy more pre-started plants.  I only have the ones I have because my local nursery just happened to carry them.  I really didn't want to buy from one of the big chain stores.  I would like to keep the local nurseries open.  I did find out, however, there are a couple of larger ones a little more on the west end of town, so now I know I can most likely find all the seedlings I want.

Either way, I went into this with the understanding that there might be some casualties, and I may have just found a few among the bell pepper, chard, and onion.

That made me wonder how you have a funeral for a plant.  I mean, considering you start off with a burial process...  I guess I just hum a few bars of "Taps" over the rows.

Or I could just ignore the totally lack of sanity in that idea and find something else to plant there.

Ahem.  Yeah.




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I think the reason I blog sometimes is because a lot of things seem like a fantastic idea until you write it down and you realize you're a few whores shy of a bordello.

If the sprouts can make it...

A vicious bout of depression kept me in bed until two today.

I did manage to get up and go to work, so that's at least something, but I am still very down.

After work, gauging the over all mood of the house to be chilly (don't ask), I went to check on my plant babies.

I will say this about gardening, it takes away that sense of self.  That may sound strange and I know I've touched on it before, but it bears repeating.  It helps you to realize that life isn't always about you.  It helps you to remember that even in bad times there are little things that are just as important.

Like little leaves pushing through the soil.

It's kind of how I feel right now in a lot of ways.  I feel like I've been buried in this depression, covered in suffocating mud.  And, there are days I just want to breathe it in, let it choke me.  Anything to get away from the excruciating pain of my marriage falling apart around me.

My heart has been shattered into pieces so small I'm not sure I'll ever be able to put it back together again.

Right now, the only things that keep me going are my family, my friends, and those tiny little leaves.

Maybe one day I'll learn from them and reach towards the sun.




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I know this isn't exactly the most pleasant post, but ignoring depression doesn't make it go away.  I have good days and bad days.  Eventually the good days will outnumber the bad days.  I long for that time.

Hey, at least it isn't a hurricane

I was only able to take a quick look out the window today to check for obvious casualties from last night's violent storm.

The tomato that continues to take most of the beating from the roof waterfall doesn't seem to be broken more than just leaning very close to the ground poor dear.  The other plants and sproutlings looked okay, but I couldn't go out and check for sure since I was dressed for an interview.  Pumps and muddy ground just don't mix.

Speaking of the interview, we awoke with no power this morning, which meant I couldn't print off my resume.  What a first impression that creates, let me tell you.  Despite it all, I'm pretty sure I rocked even if I was ambushed by a panel instead of just one interviewer.  (I hate panel interviews.)  However, one of my interviewers informed me as he was showing me out that we had more horrible storms on the way.  Lovely.

And, let me tell you, this city took that threat seriously.  It was mid-afternoon, and I found out they shut all the schools down.  Now, look, I understand we had a tornado go bouncing down a major street (about three blocks from my house), and I know we've had a lot of trees come down from the over-soaked ground, but seriously guys?  Shutting down the schools?  Overreacting just a little, aren't we?

Well, when I got home, before we were to get pummeled again, I decided to take some pictures of my sprouts and plants with my phone a) so my mother would shut up about me not sending pictures (hi, Mom!) and b) so I'll have something to remember them by considering people are running around this town like the next set of storms are the Apocalypse.

Picture parade!

My beanlings

Pumpkins

Lavender and the beginnings of pak choy just above.

Jalapeno!

Basil in the foreground, four tomatoes towards the back.

For some reason my pictures of my eggplant and cucumbers didn't come out, but you get the idea.

I was surprised to see the tiniest bit of green trying desperately to poke through the ground in the bell pepper and onion sections (not pictured).  I was almost too scared to hope, but I cleared away what debris I could around them and encouraged them the best I can.

Now, I go await the storms, which apparently are going to include fire, brimstone, frogs, fish, and a hippo or two.




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The way people react to weather here always makes me laugh.  This drama they are expressing right now is about the same reaction I see during impending snow, except when it's snow, they must go out and buy bread, milk, and eggs.  We're pretty sure there is some unwritten belief in Arkansas that French toast will prevent snowstorms.

There's a pill for that...

Dear Mama Nature,

I know how it is.  I know that after a while you feel more in control, calmer, etc.  I know that it gives you a sense of peace and comfort and you think, "I've been cured!"

But, then a week or two later, you're freaking out and sending rain, hail, tornadoes, and general destruction via wind and a big old temper tantrum.

I know you don't want to hear this, but it's time for an intervention.

Mama Nature, you have got to go back on your meds.  When we are having random trees fall during slight breezes because the ground is so soaked it can no longer support their roots, enough is enough.

We won't even mention what you've done to my bell peppers.

Your meds!  Take them!

                                                                                                           Angrily yours,
                                                                                                           Papermasks




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It usually takes one to know one and seeing as how I will be on anti-anxiety meds my whole life I think I'm entitled to give her what-for.

I'm a mother!

Holy monkey butts!  I have sproutlings!

Please note that today three pumpkin, three bush bean, six pak choy, and one swiss chard were born.  (Eat that OctoMom.)

Sniffle, sniffle.  I'm so proud!

May they grow happy, strong, fruitful, and encourage their siblings to come forth!

Now, I get to do more research on on the possible dangers to my little plant babies and if their are organic ways to manage such things.  Yeah, yeah, I'm trying the companion planting thing, but while some plants are beneficial to others it doesn't necessarily mean they will also keep away pests or disease.  Some do both but not all.  It would take more plants than I have room to achieve that effect.  Just getting these guys set up to be peaceful in their playpen was headache enough.

I am sure there are all sorts of natural ways to get rid of pests, like picking them off the leaves and squishing them with extreme prejudice, which is surprisingly satisfying.

Look, when it comes to my hard earned garden, there is no tree-hugging mercy (see bunny and squirrel gumbo).  I might be a touchy-feely, bleeding-heart, but even I have to draw the line somewhere.  (Bloody damn green worms chewing holes in my mint last year.  Little bastards.)




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Of course, I am encouraging spiders, lizards, lady bugs, and all other sorts of beneficial pest killers.  At least when they do the killing, it's considered natural.  When I do it, it's considered carnage.  Go fig.

It's mostly a guessing game

4:00 PM


Wow.  A second day in a row without rain.  Not a lot of sun, though.  The problem there is I was thinking I should water the garden, but there were some threatening clouds.  If the past few weeks are any indication...

8:00 PM


And, of course, it didn't rain.

     Dear Mama Nature, 


           You are a big, damn tease.  If I find my plants wilted tomorrow, I will give you such a glaring!


                                                                                                           Love,
                                                                                                           Papermasks




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As the great sage Mr. Miyagi said, "Do, or not do, there is no in between."  Or something like that.  All I remember was there was something about Ralph Macchio and going "squish like grape".  Could've saved the world some bad movies, that.

Priorities

For the love of little green men in pink panties it's muggy, and...

Wait...what is...?

Holy shit there's a huge ball of fire in the sky!  Everyone run for your lives!  Save yourselves!  SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!


Oooh...my cucumber seedlings are perky!




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I recognize the need for the evil day star for my plants, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

I'm not that big on the whole sun thing, but really...

The rain continues.  This is starting to remind me of the May two years ago when we bought our house.  It rained for something like three weeks straight.  I think Mama Nature has forgotten that there is such thing as too much of a good thing.

I'm trying to look on the bright side of things.  Let's be Pollyanna for a minute.  What can I find in this situation to be glad about?  Well...at least I won't have to water the garden for a while.  Yay for optimisim!

Of course, that worry might be moot anyway if my garden up and swims away.  Yay for cynicism!




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It would seem tomorrow will be our only break in the rain for quite some time.  I'm starting to wonder if I should install umbrellas in the garden.  It definitely wouldn't be the strangest thing that's ever happened in our neighborhood.  Yay for the eccentricities of suburbia!

It's a garden not a pool...

10:00 AM

Everything seems okay.

The tomatoes have perked up considerably.  Now I know what they look like when they need water.  The cucumbers were looking a little down as well.  I suppose it makes sense as tomatoes and cucumbers are very juicy, so it stands to reason they need a lot of water, especially in the beginning.  I imagine the eggplant will be the same way as will the pumpkins once they start sprouting.

I'm still concerned about that corner where the chard was planted.  The seeds are about the size of fleas and are planted rather shallow.  That waterfall I mentioned before is apparently caused by a funnel created by the sunroom roof meeting the roof to the main part of the house.  While the rest of the garden seems to be fairing well, the massive storms we have been getting has been turning the chard corner into a lake.  It drains, but I'm afraid that the seeds have been washed away.  I guess I'll have to just wait and see.

And, if that poor tomato that is also taking a beating under the waterfall makes it, I will be shocked.

5:00 PM


More storms, yeesh.  At this point, it might not be washing away so much as my seeds rotting.  Yay Spring in Arkansas.




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During the brief respite, I watched a squirrel on the neighbor's wooden fence that is beside my garden.  He seemed rather interested in it.  I would like to say I also like squirrel gumbo, buddy...

Mama Nature strikes again

7:00 PM

The wind has been vicious today because apparently our bi-polar version of Mother Nature has forgotten that the windy season was in March.  My seedlings have taken a beating, especially my tomatoes which I forgot needed to be staked.  They were also looking a little wilted despite all the water I gave them.  The idea of using garden soil over our native soil was to provide more nutrients as well good drainage.  It might be better than I thought.

I had to go to work for a while today at which I was told we had some big storms coming our way.  As I watched the ever-darkening sky between clients, I did my best to not panic.  Massage is supposed to be relaxing and soothing.  Stopping in the middle to shout, "Screw your back!  What about my garden?!" wouldn't go over well.  (Although, funnily, I have a few clients who actually would sympathize.)

When I finally managed to escape work, I adopted the Little Rock method of driving, which is to say no one else has the right of way ever and people on the sidewalk take their lives into their own hands.  I cursed at every red light, at every slow poke who decided at that moment to get in front of me, and at the approaching clouds.  I had to get home to save my tomatoes!


I managed to make it home about fifteen minutes before monsoon started.  I dug out some short plastic garden stakes that I knew would do well for the small plants, at least for the night.  I staked my tomatoes and my jalepeno just to be sure.

After changing clothes and settling down to do some writing, the rains started and I breathed easier that I had done all I could for the evening.

8:00 PM

Okay, that's a lot of rain.  A lot of rain.

Oh goody!  Hail!  And more wind!  Oh, and does mine eyes see a waterfall coming off the roof and pummeling one of my tomatoes and possibly washing away my chard seeds?  How lucky am I!

You know, I'm starting to get the definite impression Mama Nature is laughing at me.




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If a very small, localized tornado ripped right through my garden and took out the shed, I would feel absolutely no surprise at all.  A pox on you, Mama Nature!  A pox!

Well, it's still there.

A friend who is a botanist has been the lucky person to endure my amateur questions on gardening.

For instance, how do I keep the yard bunnies from munching down on my seedlings like their own personal buffet?

You see, in our neighborhood, each yard as at least one bunny.  Although I haven't seen our long-eared resident in several weeks, my sore muscles demand I take no chances that she'll undo my hard work.  Considering that some of my plants are already seedlings, the temptation might be just too much for her to ignore.

My friend suggested I place bags of used cat litter around the garden edge.  I don't know how many is really needed, but after planting yesterday, I put six plastic grocery bags of litter out.  I tied knots in the handles, leaving just a small hole to allow the scent to escape.  I know the smell of used cat litter in the heat of summer would probably concern you guys, but she assures me that unless you run over it with a lawnmower in July (yes, yes, she has done this) you really won't notice.  We'll see.

All I know is my starter plants do still exist, although it's too soon to tell if any new sprouts might worth a bunny ignoring her fear of cats (or the smell of them).

I do grow worried of the squirrel mob that has been meeting in our front yard.

I will be monitoring their activities closely...




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I love the yard bunnies.  I sincerely do.  However, I also like bunny gumbo.  My aching back and I have no sympathy for the bunny I find in my garden, especially when there's a whole back yard for her to munch on.  Just sayin'.

In which I forgot something...

So, late this morning I gathered up my best laid plan along with my plants and seeds and went to discover the fun of planting.

As I rounded the front corner of the house, twenty-two 40-pound bags of dirt screamed "Surprise!"

Oh...yeah, right...

I'm not going to lie that I had a vague and apparently futile hope that overnight the bags of soil (twenty-two at 40 pounds each, mind you) would be neatly distributed into the garden plot by happy little dirt fairies.  You know, kind of like in the story about the shoemaker and the elves.

I stared dejectedly at the pile large pile of mocking bags.  Well, shit...

Cursing the lack of dirt fairies, I put down my cardboard flat of plants and seeds and went to retrieve tools from the Shed of Pain.  (So far, the only thing I've surmised during this adventure is all yard work is torture.)  I would also like to point out that my husband informed me that he would be giving me no aid at all in this adventure.  Failing marriage or no, I would like for our SCA peeps to please remind him of the definition of chivalry, please.  Thank you.

Implements of suffering needed for this stage of gardening: a sturdy rake, a hand tiller, a box-cutter, and a resolve of friggin' steel.

One day, some amateur gardener might find this blog next to newspaper article about how I died reaching for that last blasted weed.  I only hope that he or she either use it to learn from my mistakes or decide to take up something less strenuous, like coal mining.

A few items of note:

• Sunblock is always a good idea, but if you are a rebel like me (read: stupid), it is best to take frequent breaks in the shade to avoid sunburn.
• It is perfectly acceptable to use the above excuse for breaks to cover up your true feelings, which will run along the lines of "Holy monkey ass!  I hurt in places I didn't know existed!  When I finish this damn garden, I am going to lobotomize myself to prevent future masochistic tendencies!"
• Dumping one bag of soil at a time then spreading it around is the bullet train to Crazy Ville.
• The true recipe for garden soil installation: take six or seven of the bags at a time, placing them where ever the hell they land when you throw them into the plot.  Use the box-cutter to open the bottoms of the bags.  Sit down and cry for a few minutes.  Dump out the bags.  Spread with the rake, tilling where necessary, so as to get a good mix of the bought soil with your native soil so as not to create a barrier and confuse the plants.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  When done, collapse and think horrible thoughts about anyone who said, "Gardening is fun!"
• The smart recipe for garden soil installation: call upon the teenage boys of friends and have them do it for you.  Pay them in pizza and video games.
• The genius recipe for garden soil installation: take up pottery instead.

It took me nearly five hours to finish.  At that point, I figured a break for lunch and my back was necessary.

I ate a bit.  I drank a lot of water while wishing it was tequila.  I sat indoors where there exists the greatest blessing God ever gave us: air conditioning.  (Your opinion may vary, but I don't care.)

I was tempted to not get up again and just plant another day, but with my schedule being about as stable as a squirrel on caffeine, I knew today was it or I risked not being able to get the plants into the ground before the end of our planting season.

After several minutes of pep talks, I finally got up and gathered my plants and finally, finally get to experience the "fun" part.

I started with the beans.  As you saw from my diagram, I had a whole row the length of the plot dedicated to them.  As I actually started to plant them, I realized, "Wow, that's a lot of beans."

Here's another note to would-be gardeners/masochists: Just because there are that many seeds in the packet doesn't mean you have to plant them all.

So, I decided to only do a half-row of beans and give the chard the other half.  Okay, that changed the lay-out, but I knew I could work with it.

My next discovery is pumpkins are space whores, and I don't mean green women from the planet Slut-tron who need men for Pimp Daddies.  I knew, as a squash, it was easy to fall into the common mistake of planting too many and end up being forced to give so much away that you become the Jehovah's Witness of gardening and the sight of you bearing down on their doors with a bushel of squash cause neighbors to dive behind couches.  But, I had no idea they needed so much room.  I figured I could get in a couple of pumpkin hills at least.  (Pumpkins like hills.  I guess either for drainage or because they like being high and mighty over the other plants.)

Pumpkin hills need to be eight feet apart.  Eight Feet.  My plot is 8 x 16.  So, yeah, I have only one hill that has a whole corner to itself.

As you can guess, I ended up making a lot of placement changes as I discovered more space needs of each plant.

The result:
 

Notice that the turnips are missing.  It just didn't seem like I had enough room.  Hell, considering both they and the pak choy are cool-weather plants, I'm not expecting much either way.

Still, the planting is done.  I now have what could turn out to be a pretty awesome garden.

I have made the necessary phone calls to squeal over my accomplishment.  Now, I think, I will crawl under the bed and die.

Fun, they said...




___________________
Now, the waiting begins.  I wish I could poor some instant grow stuff on it and have it pop up all pretty and full of veggies.  Hey, it worked in the cartoons!  Damn reality and its "patience is a virtue" crap.

Plan of Attack: Part Two

Now, as I've said before, around here, Mama Nature goes off her meds in the Spring, so I wasn't entirely surprised by the rainy tantrum she threw that next day keeping me indoors.  I shrugged it off.  There was always the next weekend...

A ton of rain, two cold snaps, a complete marital meltdown, a sci-fi/fantasy convention, a visit from most of the family, and a tornado helped me pass the rest of March and half of April.  So, here I am, Saturday, April 16th, doing my best to keep looking forward and not commit seppuku.

Despite the aforementioned complete marital meltdown, the husband kept his word to buy me some garden soil, which we picked up earlier today.

The conversation started with him asking, "How deep do you want it when it's spread out?  Three or six inches?"

I shrugged, trying to not remind him that I have the math skills of a brain-dead monkey.  "I don't know."

He did some calculations.  "Six inches will require about forty-four bags of dirt."

"Three inches it is," I said.

I tried hard to focus on how happy I was to be getting a garden among all this turmoil and ignore the urge to have a nervous breakdown as the nice guys loaded the bags of soil onto the truck.

The twenty-two bags of soil.

The twenty-two 40 pound bags of soil.

I just kept smiling and breathing and wishing for a few shots of tequila.

Think of the garden, think of the garden, think of the garden...

I also bought one of those hand tillers that looks like a twisty fork hoping it would make breaking up the rest of the plot easier.

It in that it made it easier to re-till the first half and break up the weeds and grass in the second half.  It didn't in that it was still tedious work that helped me discover new muscles that are currently calling me foul names.

In the end, I have nicely turned earth and a growing compost heap thanks to all those leaves.  Tomorrow I get to do what everyone declares is the Fun Part: planting.  (Personally, I figured the Fun Part would be eating the resulting veggies, but who am I to argue?)

I am going to attempt Companion Gardening, which is planting certain plants together so that they benefit each other's grow and/or keep away certain pests.  I have no desire to use pesticides for many reasons, especially since I aspire to raise honey bees next year.  The problem is there are some plants that can actually hurt each other's growth...

If anyone ever asks me what it's like to plant a garden, I will tell them that it's like planning a dinner party where a third of the guests hate each other and putting them at the same table would inevitably result in a brawl.

I have spent the last two hours just trying to figure out who are friends, who are enemies, and who are the laid back dudes who just don't care.

I think I finally have it figured out:

Will Uncle Cucumber imbibe a little too much fertilizer and try to beat up Aunt Pak Choy?  Will the tomatoes be uncontrollable brats and make the chard want to stomp them?  Will the Onions just say, "Screw it!" and stomp out in a fit of melodrama?

With hope, this tentative lay out will mean relative peace and prosperity in my garden.

But, you know, "the best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew..."

We shall see what we shall see.




____________________
If a veggie war were to break out in my yard, I wonder who the winner would be.  Cucumbers could take 'em all out by sheer numbers, but pumpkins are like nature's land mines and can just nuke the whole thing.  I guess I'll find out if I go out one day and find myself cleaning pumpkin guts off the side of the house.  (And, yes, it's very true about the pumpkins.)

Plan of Attack: Part One

Despite the title, there really wasn't one.  A month ago, my husband laid out and anchored the landscaping timbers into an 8 x 16 plot that would one day become something resembling a garden.  "One day" seemed to be the phrase of note.

Arkansas weather being what it is during the Spring (also known as the season Mother Nature goes off her meds) it was a couple of weeks before I could start the process of turning the soil so that it looked more like a potential garden plot and less like weed nursery.  So, bearing a shovel, heavy duty gloves, and a happy determination, I started what I thought would be the Hard Part.

Most people will probably recognize that the first mistake I made was using a shovel.  Hey, some of us learn the hard way.

The happy left me fairly quickly when I discovered that we actually grew rocks more than we grew weeds.  Most of them were small and suitably annoying enough that every time I heard the shovel go "clink" my cursing was relatively mild, at least not enough to scare the neighbors.  (Considering all of them have a garden of some type or another, I figured they would understand anyway.)

And, then the shovel went "clunk".

Okaaaay...

I shifted the shovel a few inches over.

"Clunk."

I shifted the shovel several more inches.

"Clunk."

That's when I decided it was a good time to take a break and ponder the situation.

Now, I had to take frequent breaks anyway for several reasons:  one, I forgot to buy sun screen, so I was doing my best to keep from burning to a crisp; two, I am a massage therapist and my hands tire quickly, plus I didn't want blisters; and three, I am woefully out-of-shape.  These things definitely seemed to have more merit than the mystery item in my soon-to-be garden.

I sat on the deck steps, wiping the sweat from my brow, and drinking water.  As I stared at the plot, several things went through my head:

• A scene in "The Quiet Man" where John Wayne digs up yet another rock while planting roses and declares, "Now, I know why you have so many rock walls in this country!"
• "It's not even my luck that it's buried treasure.  I'm sure my luck dictates that it's a shallow grave."
• "'Oh, you're planting a garden!  You'll have so much fun!' Ms. Molly said.  I need to go ask her when the fun starts."
• "If it is a shallow grave, do I have to alert the authorities or can I keep the bones to use during Halloween?"
• "I know why they call it a garden 'plot' because I definitely think it's plotting my demise.  Maybe it's cursed land and it actually ate the last would-be gardener.  Would explain the shallow grave."

I didn't say they were sane thoughts.

After a while, my determination boosted, and I stood to go dig the Thing up.

There are several reasons I want a garden beyond fresh veggies and a reason to get my ass out of the house.  Good exercise as well, sure, but I also wanted to prove to myself I can finish something this large.  Besides, there was something to be said about having a calming place where it wasn't about me or the stress in my life, but these quiet, living things who need protection and love.

I was not going to be beaten by geological upstart!

It took me the better part of a half hour to dig the damn thing out of my way to Zen inner peace.

It was unfortunate that it wasn't anything as exciting as human bones or buried treasure.  Alas, it was just a rock.  A rock the size of a small dog, but just a rock.  (About as equally annoying as a small dog as well.)

With that out of the way, I labored bearing a little paranoia that the next thing that made the shovel go "clink" would require the use of heavy machinery for removal.

Two hours and a blister later, I reached the half-way mark.  I didn't think working with a shovel to break up and turn soil would be so slow, but live and learn these things so you don't have to.

Worn out but feeling good about my accomplishments and the healthy amount of earthworms I found, I figured it was okay to stop for the night.  The next day, I could go get the garden soil and finish turning the earth.

Please note that this was the middle of March.

Yeah, you see where I'm going.

(To be continued...)




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Please note also that it was during this time period my husband decided he didn't want to be married anymore.  Both of us went into individual counseling in the hopes of saving our relationship, but my sanity at the time was definitely wearing thin.  Luckily, gardening is a pretty good anchor.  Besides, I kept having dreams my garden ate him.  Hey, we all get through tough times in our own way.