Finally got around to cleaning out the third bed, but realized as I was doing so that the boards were more rotten than I had realized. So, that was more time than I had anticipated replacing the long boards and pouring libations over the short ones, hoping to get one more season out of the poor things.
I only got it half-planted before I had to come in to start dinner (enchiladas). Garden peas in the northernmost row, spinach in the next one south. There’s been no evidence of varmint activity in the first two beds, which is sort of a surprise. High today was 65, low is supposed to be 41. No rain today, but we got about two thirds of an inch Thursday night/Friday morning as the storm moved through. Waiting for sprouts.
I’ve always looked at people’s hands. You can tell a lot from a person’s hands – whether or not they chew their nails, work in industry or an office, how often they get their nails done. But it only goes so far. The only man I ever knew who got regular manicures with his nails glossed was an ex-Army Ranger and HALO jumper who had been part of the dirty wars in Central America in the 1980s. You never know.
Looking at my hands now, I see the thumbnail I smashed while camping back in October, finally growing out. There’s dirt imbedded under and around all the other nails from mucking around in the garden today, but this one is too short for that.
And that will serve as a guiding metaphor for this blog as well as anything will.