Forging Ahead

I've been waiting for weeks now for the weather to be right for planting garlic. "Right" meaning it would maybe not rain for a few days so that the soil would dry out enough to dig up. That doesn't sound so unreasonable, does it? Sure it doesn't. Unless you're Mama N. Who has seen fit to send us rain EVERY TIME the ground starts to dry out.

She's a difficult woman, that Mama N.

So I've been sitting around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for a dry spell. And then, yesterday, I decided enough with the twiddling already, and I dug up the garlic bed.

The ground was not as dry as I would have liked, which meant I got these clumps of wet, clay-y soil that stuck to my shovel and made it weigh like 50 pounds. This significantly enhances the great enjoyment of digging. But it wasn't totally wet, so I decided I'd better go for it while there was even a reasonable chance of working the soil up into something plantable.

It was nice and sunny out, so Cubby hung out in his chariot while I dug my garlic bed. Then he got tired of the leaf he was playing with and announced he was ready to go inside and have a nap. By the time I got him changed, fed, and in his crib, the wind had picked up and it looked like rain.

NICE TRY with the sabotage, Mama N.

My bed was already mostly dug up and just needed to be smoothed out with the hoe and the rake. And then planted, of course. So while the wind blew and the clouds glowered, I hoed and raked and planted my garlic. And shallots, because I'm sure you all remember our little shallot experiment last year with which we concluded fall-planted shallots kick spring-planted shallots' pathetically stunted asses right out of the garden.

Sometimes I imagine my vegetables engage in brawls reminiscent of Westside Story.

Sometimes I think I should get out more.

ANYWAY.

So I have my ass-kicking shallots and much-delayed garlic in. Now all I have to do is kill all the weeds that have taken over the garden this summer. And resolve to do better next year.