Garden report: A shaky little tour.

A wet and rainy weekend used to mean whining. Now, it means big, bushy green leaves, my favourite galoshes, and mucking about in the mud. An improvement, for sure! And because I wanted to show you all of the things, here’s a tour instead of a write-up. Sorry about the shakiness, blurriness, and the grammatical inconsistency of my spoken words (the plants are doing well, not “good” … ugh).

Also, as a bonus, here’s a falcon. He lives in the garden and is majestic.

Garden report: Of course you want to hear more about radishes!

Ordinarily, I would make a grand fuss out of accidentally deleting my last post, and perhaps I will later when it comes time to re-write it. Nothing can tarnish my sparkly mood right now, however. I HARVESTED MY FIRST RADISHES!

There were seven in total, but we ate the first two fresh out of the ground, cleaned with water from the hose. What peppery, delicious little things! If I wasn’t sold on gardening before, I am now. I like gratification you can eat.

The radishes are the first things to ripen. There will be carrots at some point, and the broccoli, beets, and cucumbers look promising. There is kale, and some chard (I think I weeded some early seedlings by accident).

Do you like my veggies and Nick’s Star Wars big-boy underpants? Which do you like more?

So, there you go. An update, as promised, on my glorious garden that now bears fruit. I’ll re-write the piccalilli post this week (grrr). For now, I have to go dip radishes in good salt and feel smug about my imminent self-sufficiency. Whee!

Agriculture: I’m doing it!

When I was sixteen I wanted to be a hippie like Jenny from Forrest Gump except without the domestic violence and heroin later on. Mostly I wanted her outfits, and to move to San Francisco and write poetry and wear flowers in my hair. It was all very awkward and embarrassing and I discovered that I need to actually brush my hair for it to not look like a nest for many small rodents, I don’t like Birkenstocks, and meat can be really, really tasty.

The hangover from that badly dressed time is a fantasy in which I am able to live in a cozy little house on a large plot of land (overlooking the ocean and not far from the water slides) and all my friends are there and we have goats and kittens and grow our own tomatoes and make cheese and bake bread and do artistic things in the sunshine. There is a permanent rainbow. And we never have to buy anything.

So when Nick’s friend from work, Kerri, offered us a plot in her garden, I imagined us becoming completely self-sufficient, most likely by September. In my mind, we were sitting in dirt, eating perfect vegetables fresh from the ground, and singing something by, like, Jefferson Airplane or Iron and Wine or something. In the background, the kittens and baby goats were frolicking, and the escalating chords of a movie soundtrack were bringing us to that revelatory moment, the climax of our entire lives, and it was carrots.

I went to the garden shop and bought seven kinds of seeds, and then we went to Kerri’s house and she showed us to our plot, which was bigger than I anticipated. She said it would take us a little over an hour, but thanks to Nick and my two to three hilarious jokes about Nick’s instincts for gardening stemming from his Dutch heritage, we had the whole thing weeded and turned and hoed in under an hour. We made a path of bricks, and then laid what was probably too many seeds in tidy little rows marked with popsicle sticks.

A great day. And my shrieking and enthusiasm didn’t even ruin it, for once.

So, please think happy thoughts for me. We planted late, and lack experience. I see no reason why we still shouldn’t end up with so many veggies.