The Butcher and I were going to put the garden in tonight, but he got called away and I was having a crappy day and I didn’t feel like spending my evening feeling pressured to finish it.
So, I had some dinner and I went out and put the watermelons in and the spinach in and felt the cold ground beneath my feet and remembered to mark the watermelon hills with a stick so I’ll know where to weed.
And that’s good enough for today.
People, the sad truth of my life is that I’m just not good at the things I do. Except this. And I don’t really want to be good at anything. Though I enjoy being good at this.
Anyway, with the exception of getting my garden tilled, which you do have to be somewhat competent to be able to do, one of the things I like about gardening is that, in this day and age, it is truly okay to suck at it. You give it a try and if some stuff works, great. If it doesn’t, oh well, you’ll try something else next year.
It’s not like I need it to eat. I’d just like it.
But I also like the feel of the dirt on my feet. It feels soft and cold and alive.
And I don’t have to do anything to have dirt.
I don’t know. I guess this post sounds more melencholy than I intend it to. I don’t feel melencholy. I just feel like the yard is this one place in the world where I don’t have to know what I’m doing or how to get it done and it kind of doesn’t matter.