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Showing posts from December, 2020

In Which We Are Turned Over

The spring and summer months found me in the garden many evenings. I pulled weeds, picked beans or tomatoes, or looked for new blossoms on the pumpkin vine. Of course, eating the produce of a garden is the goal, the joy of the work, yet I found that feeding the soil throughout the year is a new way for me to enjoy it all. It started when I watched a YouTube video of a gardener burying all sorts of kitchen scraps to enrich the soil; naturally, I had to try it. Now I not only bury orange peels and eggshells, rotten spinach and celery stumps, but also various animal bones and shredded paper. The worms have thanked me. In other words, my attention to the soil began in the spring instead of autumn, and when the growing season was over I was eager to work with the compost; usually, this is a time marked by a note of longing for summer produce -- and that didn't pass completely -- but that first weekend in November gave me a kind of thrill normally reserved for warmer months. My sons and ...