Where did all this dill come from? I don’t even remember having dill last year. Kate? Did you have dill? It’s taken over a whole corner of the garden bed. And, hiding under the billowing dill, dozens of tiny tomato plants.
Yes, the same plant that I didn’t think we had any of and so went out and bought a starter at the plant sale. Sigh. I tried thinning them out a little bit, moving them from amongst the dill over to the other side, but I know it will just turn into a mass of barely supported tomato one day. Do I line them up along the fence? Dump them in the dark of night into the neighbors’ beds? Tomato season seems eons away, but I’m reasonably sure that I’ll wake up tomorrow and have bushels of tomatoes that need canning this instant.
Not that I know how to can.
The mints are thriving, of course, and the million tiny things that will hopefully be gorgeous flowers, and there’s something else that I hope is basil, but that could be wishful thinking.
I’d much rather rearrange the spontaneous seedling garden than work on Subject Analysis and Indexing, wouldn’t you? Or make potato salad with some of that fresh dill, I’d really like to do that. Or make that crisp. Or write up my thoughts on The Changeling. Or read The New Policeman. Or go for a bike ride. Or clean the bathroom. Or fold my laundry.
And of course it was my storytelling prof who extended the deadline, not the cataloging prof. Which doesn’t mean I don’t still need to practice my telling of Daniel in the Lion’s Den for the world’s most demanding Sunday school class tomorrow. Practice? I meant learn. There’s a reason I picked a story I already basically know.
Is it summer break yet?