So, remember all those seeds and onion sets and plants in dissolving pots (I still haven’t thinned them)? Here’s the thing…we haven’t turned over ONE inch of garden yet. I don’t mean we haven’t turned over LAST year’s garden, I mean we haven’t turned over vast amounts of green grass to turn it INTO a garden. You’re right, not only did we get chickens before we had the whole coop thing worked out, but now we have 8,576 plants and seeds and I keep trying to buy MORE and I have absolutely nowhere to put them.
Seriously, I swear, when we started this whole idea we had GREAT intentions. Tom drafted a garden plan in his fancy-pantsy drafting program. Like, he spent a LOT of time on it. There were different colors and different views and measurements and angles and math that I couldn’t even BEGIN to comprehend. Like, worse than long division, kind of math. He used the word “triangulation” a couple of times. Our big plan was that we were going to “lay out” the garden and then rent some massive rototiller thing and it all sounds so easy to me…except you know it won’t be. I’m sure this is going to involve blood, sweat, tears, swearing, rock throwing, yelling, swearing, arguing and then more swearing. You just KNOW this is what’s going to happen. And then…THEN…we still have to put a fence around it that involves some twirly post digging thing and a fence stretcher so that we can keep the bunnies from Watership Down and the deer out of the garden.
I am not going to get discouraged.
I just envision myself in my cute apron and floppy southern-old-woman hat picking tomatoes and putting them in a perfect garden basket while butterflies flit around the garden and the chickens cluck happily in their pen.
The reality is that I’ll be in a mandolin t-shirt and a pair of ratty shorts, a pair of purple crocs with my hair in a pony tail screaming about garden worms and giant orb spinning spiders that probably migrated here on a banana ship.
I love my dream world.