Rain!

Woohoooo!  We're getting a gully-washer right this minute!

My tomatoes say thanks.  My green beans say thanks.  My squash say thanks.

My roses, especially, say thanks, because they are in a hot, dry spot, needing water, but the garden hose is piled up very near to the spot where the snake probably lives.  The roses were in trouble.

This rain might bring up the pumpkin seeds that The Grandsons planted Tuesday evening.  It might be a miracle if they sprout. 

They and their mother came up, bearing seed packets, just as I was about to go to the garden.  They asked if it was too late to plant pumpkins.  I reckoned it is never too late to plant, so I tilled up "hills" in the skips in the cucumber and bean rows.

"Pretend you're monsters," (which might not be a big stretch for them) [yes, yes, just kidding], I told them, "and make a claw with your hand."  They did so.  I said, "Now, press your fingertips into the dirt, and plant a seed in each finger-hole."  They did so.  We covered the seeds with soft, loose dirt.

Grandson 1 dusted off his hands and went about his business.

Grandson 2, who had done his planting in the cucumber row, found some cucumbers I'd missed in the earlier picking.  This distracted his mother and me, and we moved on down the cucumber row, double-checking the plants.  By the time we got back to the end of the row where we'd planted the pumpkin seeds, someone - someone with Grandson 2-sized feet - had left footprints in all three pumpkin hills. 

He was at the opposite end of the garden by then.

"COME HERE," I commanded, and when he did, I pointed to the ground and said, "Why did you do this?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know."

I figured that was about as honest an answer as I was going to get.  This child cannot resist soft dirt.

"Well, if the pumpkin seeds can't punch their way out of that hard-packed dirt, we're all going to blame you."

As if he'd give a rip.

Watch those seeds pop right out of the footprints, now that they've had some rain.