I made good on my threat and got down and dirty in the gardens this evening. The dog came along and helped exactly as much as you might imagine a seven-month-old puppy might help. After an hour or so Nathan came out and asked if I was deriving "a certain peasant satisfaction" from grubbing in the dirt.
"Mostly I am feeling annoyed with myself for not doing this sooner."
"Not even a little bit of peasant satisfaction? Maybe your people aren't of hardy peasant stock, like mine."
And I will not say here what I posited my stock might be, but its origins had to do with what I do derive satisfaction from, so infer from that what you will...
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| Darn sagging garden-pants... |
So now the kitchen garden is cleaned out, and the blotchy leaves are all removed from the roses, and the stupid butterfly bush is trimmed back enough so that it's no longer smacking us in the face every time we walk down the path. Next up? Picking out what to replace the weeds with... I'm leaning towards a boat-load of winter squash... yum...
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