I showed great restraint at the plant sale. Came home with a deep burgundy African violet and a pot of rose campion.
Oh, and a bag of worm poop.
I never would have glanced at the display except that someone called my name, and when I looked around for the voice, it turned out to be our former next-door neighbor, classmate, and cousin-in-law, selling worm castings. They surely might help my tomato plants, which were pretty sickly-looking, last time I saw them.
I should go have a look today.
Had it not rained again this week, we'd be in the garden, preparing the soil for the rest of the vegetable seeds. I wanted The Husband to run the tractor tiller over it one more time before I plant, but I may have to resort to firing up the big black tiller - which would probably be better, to tell the truth, but I can't plow a straight row to save me. Pop-Pop used to say, "Pick out a tree and aim at it," but that never worked; the tiller will go sideways of its own accord because one tire is always low. My rows probably look like snakes from the air.
I guess I'll put on my gardening shoes and go see what's happening.
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