She's Dead Jim

I think it’s time to admit defeat. My vegetable garden, the one I started in the spring because I missed the taste of a “real” tomato, the one that was going to bring down the patriarchy and end capitalism, produced exactly one small pot of potatoes.

I don’t know how it was supposed to overthrow the government, but that’s the story I told myself as waddled my sweat soaked form around the yard, hauling dirt and compost.

If I ever have to depend on my homesteading skills for survival, I’d be toast.

I think I know where I went wrong. Once the Catalpa tree filled out with leaves, I realized I’d put the raised bed in a perfectly shaded spot. When the weather cools off enough, I’ll see what I can do with my tiny chainsaw to open it up a bit for next year.

The dirt I bought wasn’t the best and I doubt it contained much in the way of nutrients, a contributing factor I’m sure. It’s okay though, I have a big ol’ bunny, (Mr. Crowley) who poos plenty. Rabbit poo turns dirt into garden gold.

I used sell bunny poo on Etsy. “Little Bunny PooPoo” plant food pellets. I swear.

There’s going to have to be some sort of fencing set up too. Not because of wildlife, but the new puppy. She considers the raised bed her personal sandbox and her favorite game is watching me try to get down off the porch to run her out of it.

I’ve seen posts from other, more talented gardeners, planning their fall plantings. Not me though, I’ve accepted defeat for this year.

There’s always next year though.

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