So, it’s going on four days of gorgeous 60-70+ weather here in Lancaster.  I’m cautiously optimistic that it’s going to stick this time.  I’ve got to believe that, because the previous cold weather has just about beaten me down.  I’ve been dying to get started on the flowerbeds, digging out the stuff that just didn’t make it and try out a few new plants I’ve been reading about over the winter.

Although I love gardening, I am pretty hopeless at it.  The joke around the house is usually as follows:
Me:  Hey, I’m headed to the garden center
Him: What, need more victims for sacrifice?

My ability to keep plants alive is directly proportional to my attention span.  Meaning, wait, what were we talking about?

I’d really like to take a serious shot at vegetable and herb gardening this year, but couldn’t see myself tearing up perfectly good lawn for what will most likely become a tomato cemetery. Also, with my track record, that prospect of losing hard-earned grass is enough to make Michael weep. I was originally thinking of Square Foot Gardening, which Mac seems to love.  She practically produces her own farmer’s market every year but, then again, she’s got some discipline. Guaranteed she’s not drawn away from her gardening by a new episode of Work Out. Have you seen that woman’s abs?  Delicious.

Then I saw this over at All and Sundry, and a tiny, energy-conserving bulb appeared in my head (casting a weird yellow light, flickering and then going out, as those bastard bulbs are wont to do).  Tub-gardening!  No rototilling! Portable!  Easy to hide the incriminating evidence if I kill it.  I already have one galvantized tub of mint off the back deck, which worked really well, because that stuff has a life of its own.  If you don’t contain it, mint will overrun the lawn, break into your house and try on your underwear while you sleep.  Be warned.

So I’m excited.  Which means a trip to Lowe’s that is sure to drain my bank account is in order this week. Maybe I should just create a little ornamental fire with that money instead.

I leave you with what is probably a typical Lancaster County conversation during the first few warm days of spring, after opening the windows.

Me:  Jesus H., what did you eat last night?
Him: What are you talking about?
Me:  Didn’t you fart?
Him: No!
Me: Seriously? Then what the hell…? Is that the kid’s room?
(much sniffing ensues)
Him: Is it the bathroom?  God that’s horrible.
(more sniffing)
Me:  Oh wait. (sniffs out window)
Him: It’s the farm.  They’re spreading manure.
Me.:  I’m glad it wasn’t your ass.  I was afraid I needed to take you to the ER.