Given that it was a nice day in mid-January, I figured it was time to turn some soil and work some compost into the ground in preparation for this season's planting. I dug, I turned, I pulled out any number of weeds (many of them, apparently, strawberries from six years ago -- damned things go everywhere), and I crawled along on my hands and knees, working some fertilizer into the soil and the knees of my pants. (You'd think they'd make machines for turning soil, right?)
When I finished crawling around on my hands and knees, I swung my leg out over the edge of the garden and damned near emasculated/eviscerated myself on this piece of rebar holding one of the hoops. If I hadn't missed, it could have been quite an event -- lead story on the 5 and fresh compost for the garden, if, in fact, Mr. Bitterman and Furious George said they were willing to work me into the soil. They're like that, which is why I pay them top $$$, just part of my corporate largesse after the most beautiful there ever was tax reform plan.
This was the garden following my efforts, the hoops back safely in place and my coffee frog keeping guard. (You won't believe the number of peanuts I found that squirrels had buried in the garden. I don't put peanuts out. Must come from the bat shit crazy neighbors.) I also had to knock some of the railroad ties back in line after they were pushed out by soil pressure, and, to fertilize the potato pots. (The sweet potatoes were a knock out last year.) It's snowing now, so that should work the fertilizer and compost into the soil just a bit. I'll work on Nora, the lower garden, when it warms up later this week. But Nick, the upper garden, with the exception of a bit more compost along the way, is now just about ready to go -- break the soil a few more times and we can plant.
Joining the coffee frog this year and the demonic gnome this year will be a GOT dragon attacking gnomes, a new Godzilla (Toho Ltd) eating gnomes and King Kong gently playing with gnomes. It's all rather bloody and violent, but I do love it so. I'm really getting into this old guy thing of garden gee-gaws and knick-knacks.
Until now, the Stalin water feature has been a joke, pretty much, but I'm actively searching for a small bust of Uncle Joe that I can drill out and attach to a water pump for real live sprinkling. Let him work on a collective farm for a while and let's see how he likes it. The Donald Trump fountain has yet to be approved by the garden budget committee.
Meanwhile, as all the gnome violence and madness is happening in Nick, the upper garden, Buddha quietly watches over Nora, the lower garden, with great calm and reserve. Nora is a sweet place, after her namesake, and produced spectacularly last season. Later this week, I'll dig up the lower garden and begin its mid winter fertilization. Given the way the first dig in Nick went, I should keep 911 on speed dial. (With my luck, they've find me passed out in the zucchini weeds.)
As for the boys, Furious is already on his way back, ready to talk politics with the bat shit crazy neighbor, while Mr. Bitterman will return right after late January's "Sons of the Desert" convention.
Meanwhile, I shall continue to plot out this year's crop, hoping beyond hope not to lose the plot as soon as I plant thirty identical looking seedlings. And NO zucchini!