Composting And Other Messy Garden Pursuits

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I attended a meeting the other night about composting. “They had a saying, “Compost happens.” They lie. Questions they couldn’t answer: why doesn’t my compost heat up; how do you keep the green stuff green until you gather enough to make a three-inch layer that they said the pile required; and if there isn’t enough heat in the pile to kill the weed seeds, how do I kill them? I’m about to give up.

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I now have a raised garden bed to grow vegetables this spring. I wanted to make it myself, just intending to Mickey Mouse it together on the cheap, but I made the mistake of asking my live-in male if those corner metal thingies would keep it fairly square. He took over the project and now I have a 3-foot-by-8-foot frame that will withstand anything nature can throw at me, from a tornado to an earthquake force 10. I’m not even sure I’ll like raising vegetables.

Oh well, I can use it as a coffin when I kill him.

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Had an irate call from my middle child while she was waiting to get on the plane at Sky Harbor after a short visit. She was stopped at the security gate and then searched when they saw the meatballs I had sent home with her.

What did they think they were, hand-grenades? They weren’t that hard.

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