Friday, June 15, 2007

Confessions of a Disgraced Gardener

My Compost Interim Storage Facility
(in other words, where I dumped my compost in the middle of the winter when my composter named Stinky needed a fresh start)

Last year I embarked on a new career as a gardener, full of good intentions. However, with Grace being born in the middle of the growing season, my first year ended in shame. By the time August rolled around, the junior high school's cleaning lady was doing most of my weeding for me. So this year, when she and the special ed teacher asked me how many rows I wanted set aside for my personal use, I said I would take the year off. They laughed.

I still had a gardening game plan, though. My idea was that a man can only truly be happy gardening if he is working his own land. Setting aside the question of the validity of my hypothesis, I thought I had a solution worked out. I would collect as many apple boxes as I could and fill them with the dirt I bought last year and the compost I accumulated over the winter. Then all the earth in the apple boxes would be my land. Granted, I would still have to put my land on top of the board of education's land that surrounds our house, technically making me (or my land, I'm not sure which) a squatter.

Anyway, I didn't have enough dirt and compost to fill all four apple boxes, so I tried to supplement the bottom tiers with freshly mowed grass from the space between our house and the principle's house. I guess I didn't put enough in, because, after settling, the boxes are only two-thirds full now.

The Scorched Earth where my Compost Interim Storage Facility used to Be

Anyway, to make a long story short, I never got around to planting anything in my apple boxes. I'm too busy. But I hate to give up . . . especially since I'm always telling people that I want to have a self-sustaining homestead someday. My current situation gives people very little incentive to believe me.