How does my garden grow?

My hands have been twitching. Spasming. 'Spasm' is almost as hard to type as it is to say.

It's spring, which means warm (or hot, in Oklahoma,) days, which means GARDEN!  Garden, garden, garden!!!! 

Oooh I like the sound of that. Garden, garden, garden, garden garden.

My little digits can't wait to dig in the dirt. While my winter windowsill garden was a smashing success, it just won't do for summer. I need real dirt. Lots of it. Wind and sun. A water hose with a hole in it.

Since I have no room for a real garden, but I do have eons of gardening experience, because I'm old as dirt, Daughter #1 is letting me share her garden space. Hallelujah for grown-up children. She has a lovely space, nicely tilled, full of mulch and fertilizer (fertilizer is the city word for manure).

It's kind of fancy, all decked out with sideboards. The boards keep the dirt in and clearly outline the food plot for the critters to scavenge. Daughter #1's friend also has the gardening bug, and she started some seedlings for the backyard banquet.

The local farmer's market had a smorgasbord of plants. I got cucumbers. Lot of cucumbers. I think cukes are their own food group in the summer.

And peppers. Every version of hot pepper we could find. The taunts and boasting of the male members of the family have already started. "I can eat heat!  I can swallow whole habaneros!"  My response to that is,  "I can sit and make fun of you for being idiots when you're dying of gut pain."

This sign has nothing to do with gardening, but I like it. It hangs on D #1's shed, which is in her backyard, next to her garden, and it holds the gardening tools. And bicycles. But never mind all that.

I'm not sure if #1D was threatening The Whee, or explaining the facts of life. They're equally disturbing to me.

I told Daughter #1 that no pictures of her in the garden would appear in the ethernet. I lied.  Actually, I qualified it by saying no pictures of her bending over while I snapped her backside would appear in the cyber world. A blogger's gotta do what a blogger's gotta do.


Ahh, I can taste the tomato/cucumber sandwiches already.

Now if the varmints, worms, bugs, heat, wind, hail or tornadoes don't get them, I see showers of seasonal sumptiousness headed our way.

Why are they so serious? Are they overcome by the responsibility of caring for living things?  Or are they just realizing how much canning, pickling, drying, and freezing there will be to do if all this stuff lives. Or maybe they're just thinking, ewww, fertilizer.

Big Boy, Better Boy, Straight 8's, Celebrity, Thai Bird, Early Junes; the best thing I've ever grown are Blond Beauties.


          Happy Trails, and may your adventures grow on you!