I already like gardening. Puttering around in dirt can be all kinds of fun. I like the smell of tomatoes growing. When I can overcome my hippie speciesist guilt, I enjoy the sound that little weed-roots make when I yank them out of the soil. It’s all a lot more fun if I take decongestants.
The problem is that I like so many other things. That, and you have to go outside to garden. I need to go outside, and I feel fine once I’m out there, but getting me away from the desk or out of the comfy chair or away from the kitchen is a bit of a struggle.
But. This year I’m going to love it. This weekend, Brent is going to build me some raised beds. I’m going to do a yard cleanup. I’m going to figure out the drip system left behind by the people who lived here before. I still have to decide what it is I want to grow, besides tomatoes and lettuce, and I need to look into whether I can grow fruit trees successfully in pots.
This year, I’m not going to let the weeds win. I’m not going to be overrun with slugs. I’m not going to decide I’d rather sit in the sun and read. I’m going to make a peaceful and happy place. Really.
I’m going to go outside and play, and then, later in the season, I’ll bring my play inside and eat it.