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.