As the calendar turns to May, my gardening urge gets restless and hungry. The irony is that by July I’ll be weary of lugging pail after pail of water to the container plants. I’ll feel guilty that I’m not doing a better job of harassing the weeds, and even more guilty that the green beans are starting to look like zucchinis because I haven’t had time to pick them.
But for now, the dream overrides the reality. I start looking at garden centers with as much lust as I have for shoe stores. I grin when I see temporary, plastic covered, garden stores erupt like parking lot abscesses. I stack my dog-eared garden catalogs in neat piles and wait. And wait. Knowing the dirt will soon be under my fingernails? It is the best part of my day.
