The Joy of Gardening With The Seasons

My garden definitely took a hit with the strange weather, late summer and my teaching schedule. As the schedule is winding down, I find the weather is cooperating and I have more time to spend getting in touch with my dirty side.

One of my favorite birthday gifts was a cap that says "Plays In The Dirt". That describes me to a tee or should I say trowel. My children grew up with a little shovel in their hands, helping me plant seeds and dig, dig, dig. Although they preferred watering to weeding, all three enjoyed the organic harvest. I suppose next to drowning slugs in stale beer, they loved to pick the vegies of their labor.

My granddaughter is helping me prepare for the Fall garden. With an expected late into September summer, we planted chard, broccoli, cauliflower, spinach and kale, along with another round of cilantro and lettuce. Today we are picking cucumbers, broccoli, zucchini, basil and peppers. The peas and lettuce are done, with the chickens getting the last of it as we prepared the bed for the new Fall plantings.

With gardens popping up and spreading out in backyards everywhere, it is easy to bring kids into each season with fun activities while playing in the dirt! That's what a wise grandma would do.

With A Little Help From My Friends

HELP! I need somebody! For those old enough to know the words, this Beatles song sang a familiar tune this past weekend. Teaching summer camps the past couple of months has left little time to work in the yard and the weeds had taken most of the yard hostage. Childhood friends and sisters, Sharon and Carol heard the call and came to the rescue.

My biggest problem was the pond. The pump had given out again - the third pump in the past 10 years. The pond was over run with iris that had gone wild, no blooms due to the shady area. The 5 gallon pots were too heavy to lift out of the pond by myself and the roots from the iris had embedded themselves deep into the silt and debris.

Cavalry to the rescue! The three of us spent the day clearing the pond, installing a new pump and filter, digging out old and setting in new fence posts. I had done much of the clearing of blackberries, morning glories and dandelions prior to their visit, so I can at last enjoy the last few weeks of summer in my beautiful yard.

With a little more than a quarter of an acre, it is always a challenge to keep it under control. I am forever grateful for good friends who not only know the words to the Beatles tune, but know exactly what they mean. I am having breakfast - french toast made with eggs from my chickens and topped with blueberries from my garden and humming my favorite tune. That's what a wise grandma would do.

What Mothers Are Made Of

I spent the day doing what I love best gardening, watching baseball and being with my kids. Now that they are grown and with children of their own, Mothers day has changed from the days of toddlers to tykes to teens. It is with great fondness I look back on those days of waffles in bed, handmade cards with handprints and backwards letters and with great joy I look forward to many more days of watching my grandchildren show me with pride their handmade cards, asking if Mommy will like it.

One Mothers Day memory is rather dear to me. Breakfast in bed has always been the first order of the day. Mothers Day was always reserved for me to garden and watch baseball with no interruptions. Dad took care of any mishap, diaper change or spontaneous tea party that may arise. It is true heaven on earth for an entire day.

Mother Nature decided to go on holiday this particular Mothers Day, leaving behind a cold dreary day with scattered showers. Unwilling to give up my one day of gardening freedom, I pulled on my boots, slipped on my gloves and pulled my hat from the rack. After a few minutes of pulling weeds on my knees, from the muddy garden beds, I looked up and saw three figures standing in front of me. They stood there huddled together under an umbrella, shivering. I asked them what they were doing out in the rain. "We just wanted to be with you," said my youngest daughter.

We began pulling weeds together but before long the dirt under our fingernails was mud from head to toe. Warm soapy water and hot chocolate then became the order of the day as we snuggled on the couch and I described the fine art of the breaking ball to my muddy gardening crew. A very good Mothers Day indeed!