i dig gardening

Get it? I dig gardening? Because gardening requires digging?
Sometimes I'm super witty.

Anyway, my little deck garden is taking off.
Well... maybe not exactly taking off. But it's growing. And I picked stuff from it the other night and people ate it.
Not me though. I don't eat that kind of stuff. I eat frozen pizzas. Not spinach and lettuce.

I have dark memories of Moma forcing soggy spinach, and squishy carrots, and deceptive mashed potatoes that were actually made out of cauliflower down my throat when I was a little girl. She always said, Just eat it. Just one bite at least. And when you grow up, you'll love this kind of food.
Well I'm here to tell you, at age 28 and a half, that I still gag at the thought of those mashed potatoes.

And one time, I remember cramming every single solitary pea that was on my plate into my mouth and holding it there. And then I wore my innocent face while I went to the bathroom, spit them out into the toilet, and flushed- satisfied that I had escaped a fate worse than death by not having to chew those nasty things.
But then Moma went into the bathroom after me and guess what she saw?
One stupid pea that didn't go down with the rest.
And that's reason number 1,015 that I hate peas.
I also hate all other vegetables... except rice.

I love zinnias. Every time I see their bright wonderfulness, my heart stops and I have to give myself CPR. Which isn't easy, man.

So I bought some at work. Since I get a 40% off discount. (BEST. JOB. EVER. MAN.)

And look how pretty they are! And look at the pansies back there like, Yo... who you taking a picture of over there, huh? Us, huh?

They're like little people. Little children. And I am their mother.

Except when they grow up, I'm going to eat them. Because that's the kind of mother I am.

See that brown gooey looking stuff oozing out on the floor next to my tomatoes there?
Isn't it gross looking?
Guess what it's from.

It's dirt. The best gardening soil ever. With a lot of cow you-know-what mixed in. And when I water my plants, it oozes out and leaves a brown residue all over my deck. (My landlord is gonna love me when I move out.)

Surprisingly, it doesn't gross me out. I stick my bare hands in it and love it.

Sometimes I sniff it.

I bought a lot of this spectacular gardening soil.
Like seriously, a lot.
I asked for half a yard. They said the smallest amount I could get was 3/4 a yard. So I was like, Okay. No big dealio.
And while we were talking yardage, I was picturing the size of a yard stick.
That's not very big.
So I cleared a smallish area in the back of Moma's truck for them to dump the 3/4 yard of dirt in, and stood there happily twirling my yellow sunglasses while I thought about yard sticks.
Then I saw the dirt guy moving more stuff out of Moma's truck.
Then he practically dumped Yellowstone National Park in the back of the truck.
My jaw literally dropped. So did the rear end of Moma's truck. That baby was a low rider for a few days.

Emma will eat little mini bell peppers like candy. (She doesn't get that from me. Gross.)
So I bought a couple little starts for her.
And they've grown a ton in the last couple weeks! And look at all the flowers and buds all over them!
And that cement planter they're growing in? It was my great grandmother's. I have two of them.
Parsley's growing in one, and mini bell's in the other.
I love that I have my great grandmother's planters. I just love it.
Her name was Tilly, and she planted stuff in them too. And so did my grandmother and my moma.

My wittle, bitty garlics are coming up.
They're all like, hi mommy, every time they see me.
And I'm like, I can't wait for you to get bigger so I can take you to Karen and she can roast you in a lasagna.
And then they get all wigged out and terrified and lean way over.

And here's my favorite child.
My baby dill.
I don't know why I love it so much, but I do. Maybe because it was only about a quarter inch tall when I first got it. Practically a preemie. And now it's getting so big and grown up and pretty soon it'll be going off to college and that makes me get all teary eyed.
I'm pretty sure I'll never eat my baby dill.

And my foot is grody looking. I stepped in some of that brown residue on my deck. It oozed.

Here's me and my baby dill.
I just love family pictures.

My first "crop".
I took parts of my innocent children over to Karen's for Memorial Day and everybody ate them in a salad.

It isn't all planted and finished yet, but I love my little garden already.
I don't know why I haven't thought about doing this before.
Urban gardening is fun. I thought there would be a lot of restrictions as far as what will grow in a container and stuff like that.
But apparently, pretty much anything will grow in a pot if you love on it a little.
And apparently, you can even grow little citrus trees in pots too. And indoors! Which has me imagining myself breezily picking my own homegrown fresh oranges. Who needs Florida oranges?

And because He invented plants, and because He is the Master Gardener, and because He is good...
I made this sign for above my stove...

Love,

She Who Tells Her Baby Dill Goodnight