This is a preemptive blog post since my husband has threatened to hi-jack my blog to discuss "the vegetable garden". This weekend I went up to the sleeping garden to catch a couple of early spring documentary photos.
Buried in the foreground are the rhubarb plants which are just beginning to peek through the earth.
Here is a wider shot of the debris resting under the snow for most of the winter: flower pots, a bag of soil, a couple of plastic sand pails in the distance, and I'm pretty certain my yard stick and a pair of garden shears from two years ago lurking up there.
Right now it's still too cold for the garden to begin its growing frenzy so I am filled with the anticipation of planting seeds. Those garden catalogs tempt with their titillating descriptions of vegetables. Just plant a couple of these seeds and you'll be able to feed your entire family for the entire year. This is the image I have in my head of just what all that growing will look like: Notice the clean lines, the straight rows, the lack of weeds? This is my fantasy but this is my reality: No clean lines here. No straight rows. And boy do I have a knack for growing those weeds. I defy any one in the county to challenge me in this department.
In this shot you can see where I've tried to continue the good fight. You can actually recognize the onions but then like a horror movie the weeds are moving in for the kill.
It's not that I don't know what the heck I'm doing out there. I've read every book out there on organic gardening, pests control, eliminating weeds, boosting the soils nutrients, composting, performing ritualistic human sacrifices to placate the weed gods. I've talked to my plants. I've sung to them. I've even been known to reason with the rabbits and the ground hogs to nibble elsewhere. All of this has been to no avail. What I need is time.
With four children you would think I'd have plenty of help but unfortunately the older ones are old enough to remember pulling weeds every summer since we've lived here (five years now). Instead of the family bonding experience I thought gardening would be it's more like bondage. So I'm pretty much out there on my own. Last year, it was me and my little guy who was fond of taking the seeds out of the ground after I planted them and blasting me with the hose.
But.... This year it will be different (this is where my husband's eyes roll upward and he gets that there-she-goes-again smirk on his face). I have a plan (well, sort of). This year, I'm tossing the books away and I'm going with my gut. After all, I come from a long line of farmers (excluding my mother who could kill plastic plants). My father grew an amazing container garden on his terrace. He even grew his own grapes for his homemade wine. This season this city girl is going back to her country roots and I plan on having a bumper crop. I'll keep everyone posted with lots of pictures.
Okay, my husband is still smirking and reminding me that I've said this just about every year since we've been living here. In response I offer a loud, resounding "HA!!"