Second Garden

The telephone rang at 7:30 this morning.  I sprang out of bed and answered it.

"Pearl?"

"No," I grumbled.

"Well, what's Pearl's number?"

"Who is this?"

"I must have the wrong number."  Click.

No point in going back to bed with my heart racing a mile a minute.  I got up, cooked breakfast, and put on my gardening shoes.  Ordinarily I would not have gone to the garden to run the tiller and take a chance at waking Nanny up at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning, but I knew that whoever had gotten me out of bed at 7:30 had probably gotten Nanny up, too.  So to the garden I went.

I'd just about finished a second pass over the ground I'd tilled up earlier in the week when I looked up to find Nanny in the garden, hatted and gloved, with her sweat rag around her neck, raking grass clumps out of the first rows I'd tilled.  The early phone call had been bad news; a sick friend had taken a turn for the worse.  I guess Nanny needed to work off some grief.  Bless both of their hearts.

We planted two rows of butterbeans, two rows of purple hull peas, three short rows of crowder peas, and turnips, collards, mustard, and kale.  The peas and beans might not have enough time to mature if we get an early frost, but the greens ought to be just fine.

While I was tilling the old pea rows, I noticed that the pea vines I mowed down last Saturday were putting on new leaves.  One or two of the plants even had blooms on the new growth.  Who knew?  Next year, I might mow them down sooner, rather than planting a whole new crop, just to see what kind of second crop they'll make.