as soon as i sent out our new year’s letter it was outdated.
why didn’t you wait to send that? christian asked, wearing his smelly, sun-faded backyard work clothes.
it was january 1st and he had things to do. specifically, repurpose wood from our fence and deck projects that had been taking up space in our garage. by the afternoon he had made me three garden boxes along the side of our house.
you just made these!? i was impressed. i think just how impressed i was may have hurt his pride.
a fourth box would join the others and we filled them up with all the zeal of amateurs.
cute rows of carrots planted too close together are yielding short stumpy things. similarly the beets are plenty and crowded. two-thirds of us used to like beats, but little whopper recently decided he was above the purple root.
the squash, zuccini and cucumber have intertwined in the confines of the smallest box and morphed into something out of little shop of horrors.
kale is coming out of our ears. i am more of a kale lite person. i prefer baby kale for pasta and salads and curly kale for kale chips (which are nothing like chips! christian reminds me). this kale, no matter how much i blend it for my smoothies tastes 100% like eating grass.
the peas took over the lattice. most of the vines dying from lack of adequate water.
the green beans and leeks never made their debuts.
the cilantro and arugula grew rapidly but didn’t quite look right.
we had lettuce and earwigs for days (the only thing i hate more is a cockroach). i was so petrified to clean the lettuce i used tongues and washed each piece individually.
our tomatoes have been the big shocker. tomatoes generally don’t do well in this region so we bought starter plants which have exploded. unfortunately, some birds are keen on stealing our crop before we can harvest them. we may be investing in a scarecrow this weekend.
for this city girl who doesn’t like the work part of yard work and hadn’t really ever gotten her hands dirty, it has been surprisingly rewarding to eat what we grow. but if i’m putting in some requests to the garden gods, i wouldn’t mind having a slugless, earwigless garden next year.