Amaranth and anniversary (date).

I can’t quite remember what I’ve posted and what I’ve neglected to post of the garden so far. I’m thinking about my coming-very-soon first year of teaching and trying not to freak out about how I’m in charge of building my own curriculum as a newbie who has very little experience in the realm of music other than what I’ve taught myself.
I subbed one day of band camp last week and very much faked knowing what I was doing. What could go wrong? Ha.

Our August has been a family cycle of covid symptoms and allergies since Jubal came home from church camp. Today is our 18th wedding anniversary date (the grammar angels sitting on my shoulders always remind me to call it an anniversary date and not just anniversary). I gave my beloved a pair of flip flops and a package of pink Snoballs. Then I took a DayQuil and begged off from fixing lunch to go lay on my bed till the pressure in my head subsided.

18 years!

The good thing is we’ve never had high expectations (we barely planned a wedding, truth be told) so love (the genuine kind) really is blind-ish. I think he’s watching a Western on the couch right now without me (thank goodness).

I think I said we picked all our corn. After a few naughty raccoons filled their bellies, we plugged in the electric fence till the ears were big enough to eat. I am not convinced corn is worth growing but I am willing to have a good attitude about it until proven otherwise. I’ve read about cover crops but I think I will try to sheet compost (lasagna compost) this area of the garden for next year since I don’t plan on replanting there for fall. The idea is just to layer the spot with garden scraps and cardboard, same as a no-till method.

What hard little workers!

I spread out the remaining worm dirt from the worm bin. I’m ready to have more space in the entry room—the worm bin has been sitting there all summer, out of the heat. And the worms are prolific! I wonder how many generations of wormies are produced over five months. The garden loves worm dirt. Our soil has been terrifically improved by this mini-compost—I can almost tell overnight a difference. For sure there have been plants on the brink of death that pulled thru because we gave them some wormy love.

Spaghetti squash! Nary a one makes it far before a face appears. This is what little girl dreams are made of.

I’m documenting all my veggies for reminders’ sake to buy or not buy certain seeds in the future. It’s probably dependent on my soil and climate, but the bugs really attacked my broccoli and amaranth (“love lies bleeding”) and I couldn’t get a Passion flower to grow for anything.

Amaranth—will not try again. Did you know it’s pigweed?

We did pick her majesty, the Honeydew melon. We just couldn’t wait anymore (you’ve heard that story before). It was a good six pounds but not ripe, and we were adequately disappointed when it tasted like cucumber instead of juicy, creamy melon.

Father, forgive us! We knew better, we really did.

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