The Butcher has asked me to plant strawberries. Beautiful strawberries. Luscious, red strawberries filled with strawberry goodness. The kind of goodness that is constantly trying to kill me.
So, since I’ve become allergic to strawberries, I have tried not to think about them at all. Because I love the and they love to try to do me in.
But shit, if the Butcher wants strawberries, I’m not opposed. But when should I plant them? I saw some at Home Depot yesterday, but I didn’t pick them up. I think I have an idea for where to stick them, too, but I’m open to all kinds of knowledge. Put it on me.
As for the daffodils, at this point, I’m sure they’re mocking me. I came home yesterday after spending all afternoon trying to find a powercord for the laptop and saw that my two neighbors to the north have daffodils IN BLOOM. My daffodils can see the blooming daffodils along the side of my neighbor’s house.
And still nothing.
So, of course, it snowed last night. And now, if you listen quietly, you can hear my daffodils quietly mocking me. “We told you we know what we’re doing, B. We told you.”
So, let’s talk gardening.