A Vague, Unsatisfying Raised Garden How-To, andthensome

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Quick reminder!  Last week, I posted a book giveaway which ends tomorrow.  If you haven’t entered to win, do so!  Your chances of winning are monumental compared to bloggers with millions of followers and millions of entrants in giveaways:)

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Craig, who I always doubt because I’m a pessimist more of a realist and he’s more of a dreamer, had my eyes rolling up the street when he had the manspiration a few weeks ago to construct an elevated garden trough and plant green things in it.
I foresaw the following:

• an unfinished project,
• splinters in feet,
• limbs sawed off,
• and, in the unlikely event that it all got accomplished, a dead garden, because contrary to my country girl raising, my thumbs are the opposite of green. On the color wheel, that means I have red thumbs. Not green.

But, bust my buttons, the old fellow got it all done and I’m beside myself as I look out the window every day and behold lots of green things.
So here’s a painfully vague How-To from the perspective of the photo-fly on the wall:

 

I know years later, Craig will eventually thank me for the annoying shutterfly buzzing I do best.

And finally, step 10. Photograph all the droplets.

I’ve been using my middle-of-the-night waking sessions (they just become habit after 5 years of child-rearing) to scour Pinterest for recipes and ways to store and preserve these garden things.  This process usually ends up with pins like this:

Which leads us to the fact that although I spent my childhood and teen years playing softball every summer, I still don’t rock the ball cap at all, and am subsequently not the girl who will throw one on during hurried mornings.  Craig always suggests I borrow one of his way too large, fitted hats, and it’s become a drawn out joke over what kind of hat I would even consider wearing. While the above is probably the most likely option, I told Craig I wouldn’t wear any hat except this one:

You should know that we moved from a secluded little house in the middle of the woods with a DEATH POOL in the front yard (Bumpy Bridge House), to a suburban house with a tiny backyard surrounded by a fence –and while the view chaque jour was just darling from Bumpy Bridge, the safety of a fence and nosy neighbors to hear my screams if need be is a blessing 1,000 times over. If you’re scratching your head over this, you can read more here.

The boys don’t know the difference because to them, all they need is some dirt and some bugs, and maybe a little water hose action.  Though we did have to teach Lexington that it is not appropriate to drop trow and urinate even at the edge of the yard because when you have neighbors who can see it all… it jus’ ain’t proper.

 

So that’s where we’re at lately.

And lest yethinks I’ve got it picture perfect goin’ on here… Cue that one Eminem song that was really popular a few years ago

It’s totally spotless by now. Scout’s honor…

And because this post just doesn’t know when to stop:

Kay, I’m done.