When I mentioned that 70-some tomato seedlings needed to be transplanted, Karen asked if I had enough pots. Yes, I thought, for this round, but it's time to hunt up bunches more.
Then I saw a fiddler on the greenhouse roof and heard "Pot maker, pot maker, make me a pot...." Hand to the forehead, "I could have had a V-8."
I scurried into the living room to see if the familiar, never-used box still waited with my seeds for this season, on the lid of an old George Steck grand piano we're babysitting for our piano tuner. It's not much fun to play, but it's great for storing gardening supplies.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," says Virginia. "The chairman of a college music department loved that piano."
Once upon a time. Try playing it.
The box was there. I grabbed it and headed to the greenhouse.
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 week ago