Time to Plant

We expected the soil at 8.  It arrived at 7:45.  Though we can't complain, we weren't exactly expecting it on time, much less early.  It came in a big dump truck--the kind you wish you had small children around to watch.  I was a stand-in for the small child and, in fact, had a camera handy to record the event.

Sam arrived much later than the soil, but never mind.  Since one of the boards purchased at Home Depot was more warped even than when we bought it, there was some jimmying going on; but in the end it seems to be o.k.  I laid newspaper on the grass inside the box, and Sam brought in the first wheelbarrow of soil.  Now it's happening.

Milo, in the meantime, is stuck to the corkscrew in the center of the lawn that leaves him out of reach of the garden and, most importantly, the open back gate.  That corkscrew thing-y was a wonderful invention.  I think it was invented for dogs that are always tethered--which Milo isn't.  But it's great for the occasional tethering.  (If you think that sounds a little sadomasochistic, I don't want to hear about it.)   Poor Milo.  The most frustrating thing for him was that he was just a "leetle" out of reach of Spike the cat--who knows better than to be available in Milo's circle of accessibility. 

After many more rotations of the wheelbarrow, we finally have a virgin garden.

Patrick, son number two, arrives and helps with the yard doing other activities--like wearing out Milo.  The gate is now closed and Milo has free run of the yard--thank goodness. 


I start with the tomatoes and leave the others for later as I am exhausted from hoeing all the dirt into place in addition to lunch preparation, mail opening, e-mail checking, shrubbery clipping, and all things requiring the full attention of the upper body.  Now I'm paying for it all.  Everything above my waist hurts.  And some things below my waist.  


So the rest of it will wait for tomorrow when I will finish the planting and leave the seeds to germinate as any patient gardener would.  (Is this sounding oddly familiar?  Or oddly fallacious?)  

Here's a picture of the finished project with the four tomato plants and Milo finally expressing some interest.  Did I tell you that no fewer than three people have asked if I am fencing the garden to keep Milo out?  My response has always been:  "I'm not planning to--unless it becomes a problem."  I may have to change that tune.