A few months ago, when I was busy inside, Cubby came in and announced that he had planted a garden.
Oh. Details, please?
Turns out he had found a packet of pea seeds in the catch-all container on the mantel and planted them. But not in the actual garden. His garden was to be in the patch of bare dirt where A. used to always park his truck.
I didn't have high hopes for this venture, and I didn't want him to be disappointed. So I cautioned him that I had no idea how old those seeds were, so they might not even germinate.
A couple of weeks later, they germinated.
Then I cautioned him that peas are really a cool-weather crop, so they might not grow very well in hot, dry weather.
So he watered them faithfully, and they grew.
He decided they needed compost and took the very top layer from the compost pile, resulting in a collection of whole egg shells and banana peels around his peas. So I showed him where the well-rotted compost was and he carried buckets of it to his peas and spread it around.
He even weeded regularly. Basically, he was the only one in the house who properly cared for a garden this summer.
And he has peas. Every morning, he goes out and picks three or four pea pods and proceeds to eat them all whole. They're supposed to be shelling peas, but he insists he likes the pods, too.
Whatever you say, Cubby. It's your show.
I'm so proud.