My Garden Misses Me.

Chuck, dear sweet husband that he is, came in the other day and told me, “Your garden misses you.”

Back story: I’m recovering from surgery to straighten a big toe. Bunionectomy, it’s called. The stitches came out two days ago, and now I can focus on letting the bone heal. I’ll see the doctor again in a month. Until then, I’m stuck wearing the Incredible Protective Boot, a.k.a. Stupid Boot.

Back to the garden conversation. I only planted half of the garden last May because I knew I wouldn’t be able to work it very much. Chuck said, bravely, “I’ll plant the rest.” And he did.

He might not have realized at the time that he’d also be responsible for maintaining “my” sections as well. When he told me the garden missed me, he mentioned long branches on the tomato plants that I would certainly have tied up or guided into the spiral tomato supports. There are weeds, too. I put down barriers of corrugated cardboard and shredded paper, but a few brave stalks have found ways to sneak in. The clover, for example, stands almost as tall as the dill. A few dill plants are approaching sunflower height.

I cut him some slack in the watering task. He’s using a sprinkler to water the main patch, and using the rain barrel water to water container like the citronella and lemongrass.

I stood outside the chicken wire yesterday and threaded some tomatoes through the supports or through other branches for support. My garden misses me, and I miss it, too. Meanwhile, I’ll sit outside on the deck and watch it grow while my foot heals.

 

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