That garden gnome is messing with my head.
It all started with a cup o’ dirt.
This one.
I took it up to our local county extension office, paid my $7 and sent it away to be tested by the most intelligent agriculture folks at the University of Georgia.
And this is what I got back.
A soil report. Which is of course what I asked of them.
Here’s the sticky part.
Now the onus was on me to do something.
See the marks on there. That was done by Madison’s own Al Kimsey when I went to his place of business to rent a tiller.
“See, this is nitrogen, this means something and this means potassium,” Al said while marking up my report with his pencil like Miss Annabelle on my first grade grammar tests.
I nodded.
“Seems you don’t have any nitrogen.”
Nope. I had a garden in search of some N. What also struck me is how all that nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus stuff rolled off Al’s tongue as easily as I might say, “Why did he throw into that coverage?” watching the University of Florida next Saturday.
I don’t know about soil like that. I yearn from the deepest part of my dirt smudged little toe to know farming like that.
But all I can do now is read my report from the good folks at UGA agriculture. And they said to add nitrogen.
So I did.
I choose to ignore any symbolism in the state of my lawn Gator and the state of the UF’s football program.
I got everything planted last weekend. And all was soooo good.
My work here is done. #garden planted. I command thee to grow. pic.twitter.com/g3rCMbQsca
— Jamie Miles (@SouthMainMuse) September 27, 2014
Or so I thought.
A few days ago, I noticed a few things looking a little puny.
A mustard green on life support.
And broccoli looking like this.
So to replace some of the dead weight, I bought some arugula, kale seed and rosemary.
These bitty things are kale seeds.
So I broadcast them expertly in a proper soil trough.
Okay. So I clumped them in there any which way.
Maybe it’s not my soil that’s the problem? Maybe it’s a gnome with an attitude. Jani, see how I carefully replanted my onions? I took hours selecting the perfect spot for each one.
I was out there this afternoon sowing my row of kale and planting my arugula.
Tomorrow I’ll pot this rosemary.
It sits waiting carefully out of the sight line of last summer’s rosemary.
I sit here typing this with dirt crammed under my fingernails. I was so happy that it spit rain Sunday and Monday after I planted and then how it was very warm the last few days.
Things will really grow. I just knew it.
And things seemed to die.
No. It’s not that bad — really only a few plants are tanking — but it makes me a little mad how capricious this farming life is. You pour all you have to give into a massive 15 X 20 plot of Georgia clay and then to have it fail . . .
I’ve got my eye on this guy.
