This garden I talk about? It is, sadly, not here where we live because we live in an apartment in the city. We have one small plot in a community garden that’s within easy biking distance, but that is not nearly enough space for our food production aspirations. So, for now, we are commuter gardeners, driving out to my mother-in-law’s in The Suburbs, to fulfill our planting desires.
I cringe at the fact that we are driving to do it (we could bike, but since the drive is >11 miles and takes 20+ minutes using interstate, the time cost would be prohibitive), but compared to the thousands of miles that most grocery store food travels to get to consumers’ plates, it seems somewhat justifiable.
My dream about one day living somewhere with space for a large garden in the backyard. I think about this with great longing every time we are working in the garden, putting in multiple hours at a time to justify the drive to get there.
With a garden in my backyard, I could do little bits of work at a time, choosing the coolest, least sunny parts of the day, instead of the crazy, exhausting gardening blitzes of our current situation.
Last night was one of those blitzes. We went out after dinner and worked in almost 100 degree heat until it was dark, and we had to stop or risk crushing innocent young plants that we couldn’t see anymore.
Straw mulch and sweat are an interesting combination. By the time I called it quits, I looked like either 1) I was seeking employment as a scarecrow or 2) I had just had a good roll in the hay. Take your pick.