It’s about dern time I set down at the computater and shared something with you, dear and patient Reader.
Yes, we started out with a slight hillbilly twang in that sentence.
It’s been since MAY since we were here together. What. In. The. World.
I was using my free time differently.
I was farming.
And yarding (which I hate, by the way).
And reading, instead of writing.
What have I been reading, you ask?
I just finished Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle, and me likey.
I also read Stories I’d Tell in Bars by Jen Lancaster, and it’s bloggy-type reading and fun. And as an aside, I’m part of her exclusive invitation-only-so-ha-I’m-fancy Facebook book club, and oh, p.s., I get to be even MORE fancy and exclusive and have been invited to have lunch with her and a group of other strangers in Chicago, so I’m super excited to meet new people and drink wine together. I’m sure they will all love me. Because what’s not to love about me, amiright, Reader.*
*rhetorical, because we all know if you’re here it’s because we love each other.
That’s what I’ve been reading lately.
As I mentioned above, in addition to reading, I’ve also been FARMING. Yes, I’ve gotten the farm at Chez Bang Bang tilled and planted.
With these two beauties, that blossomed with all the direct hot sunlight that drenches the front of the house in the morning.
Perfect for growing tomatoes.
I was excited when it flowered so early in the season and then my first little gal showed up:
Because I watched a Facebook video about plants who have been verbally bullied vs. one who was lovely caressed with words, I would spend time every morning and evening telling my tomato how proud I was of it, what a little beauty she was growing into, etc…
We had a whole thing going on between us, and as I watched it grow I did get a little concerned about the deer and other wildlife in my yard taking advantage of her.
So I turned my tomato around, facing the house, to keep it out of the sight of any wayward animals who thought they would sneak a snack.
And then one night I came home from work, and bounded* up the step with my encouraging words on my tongue’s tip, and stopped and rubbed my eyes in disbelief.
*bounded may be an overstatement.
My lil tomato?
All it’s flowering-friends?
Apparently my stealthy ways of turning the plant around was no match for the yard snackers.
I may or may not have cried a little.
So now they’ve been moved to the back deck, probably where they should have been placed all along except the sun is an afternoon sun and not quite as good for growth.
But guess what’s worse than afternoon sun for tomato growth?
She was out rustling around in the yard just this morning, looking up at me, wondering where the hell I put her front-yard buffet.
The moral of the story is that I’m an eternal optimist, Reader, and truly believed the deer and other assorted wildlife would show some grace and an ounce of respect and leave my two-pot farm alone.
I was wrong.
I’ve got two new girls growing on the other plant right now, and So Help Me Garth, if a bird swoops down and pecks my plants to death I’m going to go coastal*.
*yes, coastal. Back in the olden days, of my olden life, when I was a somewhat respectable stepmother-ish to four kids, the oldest boy thought the saying was “going coastal” instead of “postal.” Going coastal is hella lot better, because a) less shooting and bloodiness and b) because we could all use a little more beach.