I am pleased, as you can tell.
Having recently developed a somewhat alarming taste for, dare I say, vegetables, AND being known to wax rhapsodic over the virtues of sustainability of local food, we have bought ourselves a share of our local Community Supported Agriculture family-run farm (hat tip to Jake)
Oh. my. God. It’s just so perfect in so many ways: local food, local farm, local economy, what’s not to love?
And it saves us from this prospect.
Because as ardently as I may desire a garden, my delicate constitution, coupled with my inclination to sloth and aversion to physical labor, means that the only way I get one is to somehow convince someone ELSE to dig it.
Which, remarkably enough, I’ve been successful in doing. More than ONCE, I might add.
And this in spite of the fact that after I admire the newly tilled earth, I proceed to plant my precious vegetables and then steadfastly ignore them until harvest-time.
If there IS a harvest-time.
So this year, I’m leaving it to the professionals.
Himself is pleased as well.