Preparing a garden is now on the agenda. Unless of course the fish are biting.
The other day the lid on my worm box came off and the worms got loose in the fridge where I was keeping them.
This annoyed Carmen to the nth. Oh, for heaven’s sake!
What’s wrong with a few worms among the broccoli? Her face folded into a frown that lasted for several hours.
I was afraid it might have ended up there permanently so I promised to start up a worm farm to keep them under control.
The compost doesn’t seem to supply them. Maybe it’s the tailings from my winemaking.
I take delight dumping my wine residues into the compost bin which I know is a great source of fun to all the little bugs residing there. Yeah! Party time.
The local goose population on the lake (numbering 15), discovered a new food source last fall, our lawn.
Yes the goose poop is good for the garden despite the cleanup. Speaking of which, Carmen and I got into an arm wrestle over who got the compost — me for my vegetable patch or her for her flower garden.
I let her have it. OK so she won anyway, but that doesn’t disqualify the gentlemanly gesture.
Last year one lone cherry tomato survived the frost, the bugs, the blight and the deer and I gave it to Carmen, who popped it right into her mouth.
I was to witness the sum total of our tomato crop gone in one gulp. This year, of course, we are continuing in undue optimism in our ability to grow vegetables in Zone 2, (one zone shy of the arctic) at 3,500 feet above sea level.
I tried to get the government to change the climate rating to Zone 4, but no matter how many forms I filled out, did not succeed.
The deer problem has again reared its head. We were told to put Irish Spring soap on the trees which should have been enough to deter anyone, even inanimate objects, but it didn’t work on the deer.
It certainly worked on me, though. I couldn’t stop sneezing.
We had been given other advice on how to control the deer munching on our fruit trees.
We were informed to mark our territory by urinating on it. Now, I have to admit, running around and peeing on everything was a bit of fun but it didn’t work, either.
As soon as it rained I had to do it all over again and my bladder can only hold so much.
We did try ribbons, a suggested lock of my hair, and some rather rank perfume, but nope!
The final solution seemed to be to put up eight-foot fences around each tree.
Again that’s next on my agenda, when I’m in the mood and have the inclination.
Yes, I can’t wait to get my fingernails dirty gardening.
In truth, I am in celebration of the miracle of soil, with its teeming life and its endless ability to nourish humankind.
Here is where we all come to ground.
Hands in the earth, heart and mind in tune with the natural forces at work and the expressed belief in the sacredness of life, ever flowering.
Robert Nichol is a freelance columnist with the Tribune/Advisor.