This beautiful morning, large patches of clear blue peek through cumulus clouds as they change shape and move high overhead. We're happy that the cutting cold wind has died down and the temperature has risen 20 degrees.
It's a few minutes past eight and my husband and I, wearing gardening gloves and sturdy shoes, stand beside our cherished small garden plot. In the barrow rest a hoe, a trowel, a spading fork and six dozen onion plants.
Since the King of the Castle recently spent several days in the CCU of our local hospital, I take charge of the spading fork. Diagnosed with congestive heart failure and A-Fib, the King's strenuous activities are strictly limited. As I thrust the fork into the good fertile Texas soil, I notice the pleasant aroma wafting up and see the decomposing leaves that enrich the soil. "This is good dirt," I remark. That has not always been true.
After we signed all documents making this small space of North Texas our home, we discovered that our property was built on soil consisting primarily of ugly, dense, yellow clay. The lawns had been improved by loads of loam and plats of St. Augustine grass. But the little garden spot was ignored. The King soon remedied that with a large compost barrel and multiple bags of peat moss and fertilizer thoroughly worked into the soil.
We both appreciate a good country meal of black-eyed peas with lots of snaps, stewed okra, and a platter of sliced fresh tomatoes and onions. Special accents are cantaloupe and a pan of hot cornbread. In a few months, all these delicacies will be available to us any time we wish. We will purchase only the cornbread ingredients - I refuse to grind corn.
Valuable advice from Will Rogers:
Never squat with your spurs on.
Never miss a good chance to shut up.
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