If a county-wide search for the best-looking garden were conducted, mine would neither Win, Place nor Show.
The garden at Groundhog Hill has officially entered the Ugly Baby stage, wherein, I am the only person who would find it beautiful.
Uneven rows of Purple Corn surrounded by grass reside alongside rows of Zinnia that are dotted with Johnson Grass, Cape Milkweed, and that weird Ivy-like weed.
Sure, some gardeners might scoff at all the grass, but I think the green adds a nice color balance with all the red-brown of the freshly tilled earth. Both my father and my sister have given me unsolicited advice on what I need to do but neither offered to lend hand nor hoe.
As for those two rows of corn that are clearly planted too close to one another, well to me, that isn’t planter error, it’s just another less brilliant example of companion planting. Instead of tilling between these rows, I’ll just have to use the weedeater. What fun!
My baby of a garden may be ugly right now, but it sure does have a good personality.
Now if you’re into perfectly tilled rows precisely marked with tobacco sticks, there is another garden at Groundhog Hill, and as usual, it belongs to Harold, my fellow Groundhog Hill grower of produce.
Harold is seemingly there morning, noon and night, always tilling or spraying something. Lately I’ve begun to wonder whether or not Harold sows grass seed in my garden every night.
As for the house garden, we’ve been enjoying some tasty Spring Peas. I pick ’em and Dad shells ’em. No grass in sight.
We sat at the kitchen table the other morning after breakfast, the French Open playing in the background, and discussed the history of Nolynn Church while shelling peas. Not a bad way to spend a morning for a father and his baby.