I realized recently the level of garden I wish to have. Mr. McGregor's garden. When we were in Utah, the kids asked to read The Tale of Peter Rabbit almost every night. I sat looking at Ms. Potter's beautiful drawings with the hedge-row and the distant trees, the little paths, quaint shed and gates and an acre of vegetables...sigh.
Isn't it lovely? He even has a cold frame. Now compare to my current garden.
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| The boys build a ship by adding a mast (basketball hoop) on the boat (picnic table) |
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| Yes, the boys are in pajamas and cowboy boots on a Sunday morning. |
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| Freaky mushrooms grow on their own. |
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| Reading nook coming out of hibernation |
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| Two new birch trees along the back fence |
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| My Ghetto Greenhouse. I put a tomato plant in the biggest pot I had, added a stake, a bag, and a light for heat. |
Someday. Someday maybe in retirement like Mr. McGregor I'll have the garden I've always wanted.
2 comments:
Mr. McGregor, bless his heart, lives in jolly old England. You are not going to get his garden. You may get a nice old grandpa's garden, but you'll have to move to warmer, sunnier climes. I, too, wish for a garden and an orchard and the beautiful fictionalized children I see romping about in them as shown me in the glossy pages of magazines.
I refuse reality and embrace the dream! London drizzle and maritime climates have got to produce something! I've given up the dream of tomatoes and melons and pumpkins overtaking the garden while I sleep. I'll settle for a row of cabbage. And maybe some broccoli and lettuces and peas since that's the only temperature approved items. Are blueberries and raspberries asking too much? I'm getting carried away again.
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