YAY!

The garden is planted! The garden is planted! THE GARDEN IS PLANTED!

...can you tell I'm excited?

I shoveled a lot of dirt yesterday. I'm not exactly sure how much a cubic foot weighs, but I'm willing to guess I moved several hundred pounds from my truck to the beds. Luckily, it was a gorgeous day, and I was too happy to mind the work. And it really wasn't that bad. Several hundred pounds moves surprisingly quickly if you just take it one shovel-full at a time.

Turns out Steve the dirt guy was right about me needing to come back; I hadn't gotten quite enough topsoil on Monday. I was able to fill two of the beds completely and got a little into the third before I ran out. I hadn't been off by too much, but I still needed more, and this would give me a chance to pay for it all. Back I went to Steve's lot, shovel in hand.

My strategy for filling the beds was to start with some topsoil, then pour in some compost and mix the two together. I kept going like that, with the compost getting more concentrated towards the top of the bed, until it was full. For the last bed, I decided to mix that last layer of soil and compost with my hands, instead of with the rake and shovel. It was late afternoon, the sun was hot on my back, and the soil was cool and damp in my hands. I reached down to my wrists in the soft dirt, then scooped it up and turned it over to mix everything together. Before I finished, I just stood there for a moment, my hands buried like I was going to put down roots myself. It felt so soft and rich and nice; I think my plants will really like it.

Filled with love.

When the last bed was filled, I stood there in amazement for a few minutes. Was it really time? I've been daydreaming about having a real garden for ages and ages, since I don't know when. Almost everywhere I've gone since leaving home, I've picked up plants along the way. I had a basil plant and a bedraggled sunflower that I carted around with me when I was on tour in the UK. I had my sunlight-deprived primrose and dahlias in Philadelphia. And now this: three neat square beds filled with rich, dark earth, just waiting for me to fill them up. I almost couldn't believe it was real!

I started by dividing each bed into nine one-foot squares with twine. While I'm not technically following the square-foot gardening practices completely, I am borrowing some of it's ideas. This seemed like the easiest way to organize my garden and start things out neat, plus it will make weeding easier, should that become an issue. (I'm hoping the newspaper I put at the bottom of the beds, as well as our general lack of grass, will make for minimal weeds. This might be wishful thinking.)

Part of the afternoon, while I was waiting to go pick up more topsoil, had been spent rearranging the garden layout that I'd planned when I bought seeds. I decided that it probably really was too late in the season to plant my peas and carrots. They'll just have to wait for the fall, along with the still-theoretical kale, brussels sprouts, and bachelor's buttons I'd like to plant then as well. So instead, I added another square of green beans, a third tomato plant, and more flowers. (One can never have too many flowers.) Now, with my garden plan sketched out in my notebook and the box of seeds under my arm, I was ready to go.

It seems like such a simple thing: poke a hole of the appropriate depth into the dirt, drop in a seed or two, and cover it back up again (or not, depending on the plant). After all that anticipation, it was so easy and quick. But it felt magical. I looked at the little seeds in my hand and tried to imagine the plants they'd grow into. Some of them, especially the anise hyssop, mint, and thyme seeds, seemed so impossibly small. How could a big bushy plant grow out of something so tiny? The mint seeds were so small that when I poured them into my hands, I couldn't tell which little black specks were seeds and which were grains of dirt.

Some of the others surprised me as well. The nasturtium seeds, for example, were much bigger than I'd thought they'd be and looked like knobbily brains the size of my little fingernail. And then there were some, like the cosmos, zinnia, and marigold seeds, that I recognized from planting them with my Mom when I was little. It was like meeting old friends again: "Hello there! How are you? It's been a while, hasn't it? It's good to see you again."

I love that different varieties of plants have names, some more fantastical than others. Here's what I'm growing, fun names included:

• Nasturtiums - Kaleidoscope Mix
• Marigolds - Red Gems
• Borage
• Zinnias - Giant Dahlia Mix (originally I wanted to grow the State Fair mix, which I think is what my Dad used to grow, but they were all sold out of those seeds when I made my order)
• Sage 
• Bell peppers - Islander (they're PURPLE!)
• Green beans - Jade
• Mint
• Grape tomatoes - Red Pearl (which makes me think of the Black Pearl, which makes me think of pirates, which makes me happy)
• Heirloom tomatoes - Amish Paste
• Anise Hyssop
• Thyme - Orange
• Cosmos - Sensation Mix
• Lemon Basil (from my Dad, which makes it special even without a fancy name)

Alex came out and planted with me for a while, which was wonderful. As we finished the last bed, he turned cameraman to document the event. Here are some of the pictures he took:

Yes, my current watering can is a milk jug with holes punched in the cap.

In less than a half hour, everything was planted, watered, and ready to go. The rest of the evening, I kept peeking out the window to look at the garden, almost like I was expecting to see things sprouting already. This morning I think I've checked on it three times. Of course it looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. But every time I think, maybe something has changed, maybe one of them is growing. And they are, I guess, just not visibly yet. But right now, I bet, they're starting to wake up.