Composter- 1, Gardener- 0
I was so excited about my new composter. Who am I kidding? I'm still excited despite having to shovel decomposing vegetable matter off the concrete slab we call a porch when the door flew open and popped off spewing the contents. I'm slightly surprised the neighbors didn't call over to ask what that smell was — because it was wretched.
So now the goal is going to be to move this mammoth tumbler from where it is to somewhere else once the weather breaks and the ground is a little less spongy.
My spring time "to do" list is slowly growing. As I write this, I can think of at least three things I want to be doing outside. First and foremost, playing with the kids. A close, very close, second is getting the garden tilled and expanded. Third, I want go crazy fixing the flower bed out front, but I'm not nearly as excited about that because I'm self conscious about people seeing my gardening tactics. They're fairly stealthy and not an exact science, and on occasion naughty words fly out of my face and I hear my older child repeating them later in the day. It's not a pretty sight.
Back to the vegetable garden we go! Like the crazy person I sometimes think I am, last night once the babies were in bed, I went to work starting my tomato seeds. There are 22 peat pellets sitting in a dish on my kitchen counter. Yes, 22. Since I often think Mama Nature has it in for me, I always plant at least half of my pellets with two seeds. See? Crazy.
Lord, grant me the ability to keep up with the garden this year! There is nothing I love more than to be able to feed my family from home grown crops. The last few years of having a garden have been tougher than what I remember from my childhood. I have either planted late in the season and dealt with most of my crop being green at the first frost in the fall of the year, not been able to keep up with watering and watched plants wither in the ground, and then there was my infamous first year ... the tomato blight.
Big, beautiful, delectable, plump tomatoes. And they all rotted on the vine. I cried. Literally stood in my garden pulling out plants with tears streaming down my face. Nothing will make you feel like you lack the ability to provide food for your family quicker than watching your hard work turn black before the bugs can even get to it. The year after that, I started my seeds early enough, but a gust of wind snapped most of the plants; the two years following that I kind of stopped giving a shit and planted everything late.
This year, I vow to make a more concerted effort. Josephine has loved playing in the garden with me in the past regardless of its success and I'm hopeful she'll love the dirt just as much this year. Charlotte was iffy about getting too dirty last summer, but she wasn't even walking yet, so with a little luck that will change.
Already I've had to ask Josie to not eat the peat pellets.
"But, I like dirt."
"But, you don't eat dirt."
"I do! I like to eat dirt, Mama!"
Whatever floats your boat, kidget. I suppose there are worse things she could eat. Knowing how much mud and dirt I consumed as a child stealing carrots and onions from my parents garden, I'm sure she'll be fine.
If nothing else, I know this much is true — dirty kids are happy kids, and this kid right here can't wait to get her toes in the dirt.
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