We are putting the garden to bed, Folks, which means, essentially–pulling up every single thing. Gracelessly, I might add.
Wednesday, May 30th, 2012
We’ve got a garden! Seedlings, sprouts, buds…everything is new life–fragile and delicate.
And the weather has not yet gotten very hot or dry, which bodes well. Fingers crossed.
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition,
out of hopeful green stuff woven.
–Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
-SC, with photos by Bryant