The truth -- and probably not a secret one at this point -- is that I kind of love biting off more than I can chew. Yes! Let's grow all the tomatoes! I love the feeling of possibility this time of year represents, when the world seems to go from barely laced with new leaf all the way to lush life in scarcely a weekend. Sober is for September. Let me have my May.
My man got into the spirit too and one weekend he bit off more than he could chew by rebuilding our raised garden beds. They were nine years old and starting to fall apart, so if we really wanted to grow all the tomatoes it was now or never for fixing them.
The old beds were built of softwood painted red, and the new ones are cedar. Hey, we are moving up in the world! The other day my man remarked to me that he thinks the geraniums I planted in little terra-cotta pots next to the raised beds look better against the new beds than they had against the old ones. That was a nice thing to hear. Sometimes I struggle with my interest in domestic things, because domesticity is largely seen as a feminine pursuit and of course feminine pursuits are devalued. And I find myself thinking: why am I spending time worrying about what the house looks like? Shouldn't I be focusing on something Worthier? (I do in my heart believe that domesticity is worthy of care and consideration, by both sexes, but I'm talking about my moments of self-doubt here.) So it was nice to find out that the geraniums I planted didn't just matter to me.
And, sappy as it sounds, it's nice to look out our back door and see the geraniums, and know that I'm seeing something that pleases his eye -- along the same lines as seeing a Northern flicker or a birch tree.
Before I close, one more picture, this one taken by my girl of the garden she planted in a metal tub. She got to choose all the plants and she's responsible for watering and taking care of it. We have a penstemon in the center, carrot seedlings coming up around the edges, a strawberry plant, two colors of basil, a pansy, and some marigolds. We had to talk her out of putting a cherry tomato plant in there too -- whether you call it biting off more than you can chew, or having eyes bigger than your garden tub, I guess the condition is hereditary.
