My grandfather loved his vegetable gardens. He had two; one in the back yard and the other one beyond the gate and on a strip of land between the fence and the edge of the hill that sloped down to the highway below.
I don’t know if that strip of land belonged to him or not. Granddaddy wasn’t the kind of man who’d let a little title dispute stand between him and a crop of sweet corn.
When I could tear myself away from reruns of Captain Kangaroo, I’d head out to the garden and watch him work in his blue and white overalls and floppy hat that kept him shaded from the hot Texas sun. He would talk to me about the importance of chopping the weeds out and making sure the plants were well-watered. I’d nod and sit on the grass and complain about the heat and generally be flighty and unhelpful.
When my grandfather died, I felt the need pick up the garden mantle and thus directed Mr. CPQ to dig up a patch of grass in the back yard and plant some seeds for me.
I’m all about outsourcing whenever possible.
We had a great little garden for several years that grew carrots, peppers, squash, tomatoes and herbs and then we moved to our current house which is unfenced and resides smack in the middle of a deer migration path. Sadly, I have been unable to plant a thing in the yard that hasn’t been munched within twenty minutes of sticking it in the dirt.
Undeterred, I’ve moved to planting annuals in pots on the back deck and since the weather has just warmed up enough to get past freeze warnings, this weekend Mr. CPQ and I went to Lowes for the our annual Selecting Of The Flowers Day.
While we were there, I met Rachel who recognized Mr. CPQ’s distinctive white head of hair and my pink jacket from last week’s post about my Starbucks’s clown encounter and she came over to introduce herself as a blog lurker. She was beautifully dressed with perfect hair and she could not have been more gracious and I was so discombobulated that I forgot to ask her if she also was a blogger because I would have loved to link to her blog if I could.
And by the way, Rachel, I’m glad I ran into you right after church and not three hours later when I was wearing planting clothes and had dirt in my hair.
And you created a monster because there’s no living with Mr. CPQ now that he’s been recognized.
After she left, I was kicking myself that I didn’t ask her for gardening advice because while I may stick a few seeds in the ground and call myself a gardener, let’s face it, I’m no Mr. Green Jeans. We ended up bringing a variety of flowers home and the only two I know by name are geraniums and marigolds. The rest we’re just calling “that purple one” or “the yellow wavy thing”.
My grandfather would be so proud.
Have a nice day.