getting dirty

I'm not a big fan of sweat and dirt.  Not excited about worms and bugs.

So, last spring it occurred to me--with some dismay--that I never grew ANYthing when I was a kid.  I mean, seriously, not a potato in a jar, not a bean in a cup, no flowers in the yard, nothing.  I have mental photographs of my Grandma Covert, who lived with us, on her knees in the yard, planting small shrubs, maybe roses?  I honestly didn't pay attention, beyond keeping her fondness for the garden in mind when shopping for Christmas presents.  I mean, I had far more gripping things to do, like watching the Brady Bunch and taping Seventeen magazine photos to my closet door. 

Then, Toby and I were in our first house, and something kicked in--I was downright giddy to plant something.  So I carved out a humble flowerbed and went to work.  I had no clue, but I was ambitious and dedicated.  Today, I have moved up ever so slightly in the world of horticulture, actually having successfully nurtured various herbs and vegetables to an edible state (yes, and murdered a few).  This time of the year is my absolute FAVORITE--April--getting out there in the dirt--so suddenly close to Mother Nature after months of hibernating.  The whole family can take a part and come in late in the day with cocoa-powdered toes (we prefer barefoot) and grimy nails.  So accomplished!  So proud!  Today was the big Start the Garden Day, and now we're waiting for our reward: Papa John's Pizza.  ooh, there it is!  Gotta run.  Of course, we'll wash our dirty hands first.