There are things I wish I were: a lover of mushrooms and raisins, patient enough for non-fiction, more willing to accept help for things that frustrate me. But most of all, I wish I could garden. Since I have lived on my own, I have had the good fortune of excuses. Our landlord won't let us dig up the yard... we moved in to the house too late for planting... the back yard is too shady.
The shady excuse is the one I currently implement, although I have every intention of container gardening this summer and have already prepared the soil in my bourbon barrel herb garden.
My pale-green thumb is one of the reasons I am thankful for the Farmer's Market. It's still early in the season, but there were enough farmer's and street musicians out this morning to give me that feeling in the middle of myself - that point right below the rib cage - of warmth. satisfaction and contentment. As I scouted for the best asparagus and lettuce, was dismayed that it's "too early for peas" , and found pride in knowing which farmer's were legit and which were buying off the truck, I decided it was okay that I didn't garden. My broccoli will be fresh, safe, and grown lovingly whether it's from my own hands or Scott County soil. And I'm supporting these beautiful people who get up so early every Saturday to come downtown Lexington and sell their food. It's not an easy life for these farmer's, full of risk and hard work. I'll grow my herbs, my tomatoes and maybe I'll try my hand at a little zucchini, but on Saturday mornings, I'll pick out the long awaited peas to the sounds of live jazz guitar and bluegrass fiddles and that' fine by me.