While waiting out this second tornado watch, and after doing some busy work this morning, I rewarded myself with time in the veggie garden.
Tomorrow? I will pay dearly. I will ache. This is better than lifting weights in the Student Rec Center.
For now, I feel virtuous. I am my grandmama’s chile. I miss her so much. Whenever I called her before she passed March 3 last year, she’d ask about the garden. She wanted to know what was growing well, what was giving us a hard time, and so on.
This year, we will let the soil rest. I’ll do a few raised beds though. A friend in New Hampshire sent some seeds from Jamaica. Callaloo and all kinds of cukes. Pickling time!
While out there, I found a pecan seed planted. Probably the work of a squirrel or chipmunk. I pulled it up. It was not in the right place. It was where we try to grow – if you can believe it – carrots.
Miami girl in Alabama. If you’d told me 20 years ago I’d be wearing overalls with my hands in the dirt, I would not be entirely surprised. When I was a kid, my Mississippi-born sharecropping grandparents used to take me and my brother (and my best friend from high school) to Homestead. There, we’d pick strawberries, tomatoes and pole beans and then sell all of it at the Farmer’s Market in Coconut Grove section of Miami where I spent the first five years of my life.
It all goes so fast.