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I'm looking at Martha Stewart's garden and just drooling. Beautiful, weed-free, raised beds with rich soil.
I'm gardening in a cat litter box, full of weeds. Sigh.
I've been feeling bad because my garden isn't done. The temperature, in parts of Albuquerque, got down to freezing last night.
So, I'm pretending I was smart by not planting earlier, or my seedlings would have frozen.
Yeah, right.
:)
I'll limp along with the garden I've got, for another year.
Maybe I'll have access to a roto tiller next year. I can't dig this much dirt by hand anymore.
And, maybe, next year I can devote my plantings to heirloom, indigenous and other rare seeds.
I buy seed packs at the end of the previous year, on sale. I rarely pay more than five cents per pack.
But these are hobbiest seeds, produced for convenience, quick growth, etc. They're pretty generic. And who knows what they do to them before they're in the pack.
Since agribusiness, our seed varieties are in grave jeopardy. We just don't have the genetic diversity, even within species, that plants need to survive.
I'd like to plant tomatoes Thomas Jefferson grew. I'd like to plant squash the Natives grew.
By preserving these breeds, we're preserving the genes and keeping our food supplies stronger.
Besides, some of these breeds are so interesting! And their flavors are good.
Maybe I can both work on my stories this week, and get in a bit of gardening. But that long walk, to and from the station, is painful.
I'll try, though...
I do know I want to do some laundry, Mon-Wed, while Crazy Raoul has to work and can't bother me. He was outside my kitchen window, raving and screaming like a wounded bear, yesterday. I'm squeezed between him and a low-bottom drunk. And he's made friends with the drunk. Dammit. Sigh.
And the drunk is leaving beer cans and cigarette butts in front of my apartment. Lovely.
This is the main reason I don't invite too many people to my house. It's embarrassing! And the racial epithets, etc., are just evil.
Someday, I'll have a peaceful, quiet place to live.
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