With the old Almanack and the old Year, Leave thy old Vices, tho’ ever so dear. – Ben Franklin
Broadway, Virginia; January 7; 6:40 pm and 54 degrees
I should have planted the spinach today. The unseasonably warm temperatures and light mist would have created a perfect environment to send the little seeds on their way to germination. But alas, I am not clairvoyant. I buried the little dried pods last week amidst snow flurries, stiff winds and below freezing temperatures.
One of my perennial New Years resolutions is to take my gardening hobby more seriously. As part of that resolve I’m trying my hand at raised beds, or at least a primitive form of raised bed. Edna snickers into her French knot embroidered handkerchief every time I mention my new gardening style, but I can’t help but think it will be an improvement over trying to coax life out of the poor soil in the current garden patch.
I found a couple of old 2 x 4’s and a bag of potting soil, put the two together and came up with a structure to house the spinach and arugula. I covered the lot with a pile of old leaves and a couple of left over pine branches from the Christmas tree. Hopefully the nest will be cozy enough to coax growth.
As far as leaving Old Vices behind, I’m afraid I probably won’t take Sir Ben’s advice here. I’ve grown rather accustomed to my iniquities –such as they are. At my stage of life, my wild habits are confined to overindulgence in caffeine and an occasional friendly gossip session with Edna— quite minor peccadillos in the scheme of things I would imagine.
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