I've never really been a very good gardener, although I come from a long line of those who are.
Mom had a half-acre plot next to the house when I was three, four, five… Corn and beans growing taller than I could reach, I remember looking up at the sky through them. And sitting side-by-side with her, learning how to shell peas. Feeling happy and useful.
And later, when we lived in the "town" (of 10,000), on a corner with very little yard. She had porch boxes and pots, and a side strip for tomatoes. We'd bury the fish heads from Dad's catch under them for fertilizer. But you had to get them down deep, or the cat would dig them up.
Flowers in moonlight.
Moonlight in flowers.
(Moon by Jude.)
