|About a pint of "black gold" in each bag.|
Times like this, I stop and wonder, 'Just what makes me think I can do this, anyway?' Sheer naivete, I'm sure.
|Flags in foreground mark the size I'm used to gardening. See those distant flags? They mark the space I'll be using this summer.|
|I must have been crazy.|
After a useful consult with my brother, Rob, I opted to move my operation back down to "the yard" - the land where everybody once lived, where barns and rotting buildings now reside, and the same place where I would be squatting. That way, I could wake up in my one-room palace and walk straight out into my green-brown office without leaving the property.
Such decisions cannot be made from a distance so this was the main reason for the recent road trip. Initially, Brent steered me to a side section of regularly farmed land that he had in mind.
"Has this land been growing treated seed or been sprayed in the last three years?" I asked.
"Um, yes," he said.
"Then it's not going to work."
"Ah, okay. I see."
"How about this space over here?" I said, walking him over to a giant green patch between a big red barn and the edge of the farmed land.
"Well, see now that's going to be a problem because this is where we drive the tractors through after coming in from the field. Also, it's awfully close to crops that are likely to be sprayed. You have to consider the wind."
He was right. I learned about buffer zones at the organic farming conference. Plus, I absolutely did not want to disrupt the normal day-to-day workings of the farm or be in the way at all. So, we kept looking around for a spot.
"How about over here, behind the grain bins?" he offered. We surveyed a spot that was wild, uneven and spotty with grass and dirt. It looked unkempt, ragged and forgotten. It was perfect.
|Brent, planting flags in my field of dreams.|
Meanwhile, I sent off two batches of the most gorgeous so-black-it's-almost-blue dirt you might ever see in your life. It looks not unlike the chopped up chocolate I use for making homemade Mint Chip ice cream:
I brought my precious soil home from North Dakota in two tupperware tubs. Whenever somebody came into the house, I'd offer, "Wanna smell my dirt?" I never waited for an actual answer, mind you, before exposing them to the wondrous aroma of fertile land. Yup, sexy, exciting times over here.
Oh yeah, I need to order more seeds too.
And buy a camper trailer.
And pack up all my worldly goods and move.
And pick up a new speed habit, so I can get everything done...