When Pigs Fly Farm is EXPANDING!
In between building rockin' tomato fortresses, getting on Facebook and producing potentially viral gardening videos, Farmer Jim has staked out and is currently excavating When Pigs Farm 2.o.
WPF 2.o will be ready for occupation Summer 2012. Make your reservations now.
In other news:
The tomatoes survived four consecutive days of 70-degree sunny weather, but have now returned to their miserably normal state: Rain, cold and general dankness.
The arugula, carrots and fennel seem fairly oblivious to the general climatological cruddiness and are perking right along, and speaking of 2.os, Romaine 2.o has arrived.
And I MEAN it this time!
Over on Farmer Jim's side of things, he's got dill and onions in, lettuce looks good and his peas are simply p.r.e.c.i.o.u.s.
And, oh, while my corn is no way as high as an elephant's eye (more like a sheep dog's eye) -- WTF!! did you say corn??? -- Why yes. As a matter of fact I did.
I did not grow said corn myself. I paid cold, hard cash for it at Liberty Park Florist, Bermtopia's go-to nursery for already-big-vegetable-plants-since-no-way-hell-can-you-start-with-little-ones-because-of-our-freakin'-45-minute-growing-season-here. So the corn is in.
I am expedient if anything.
And, this week, I can't give my gardening report with a word about The Back Forty, my perennial project (literally and figuratively) at the Nine-One-Four. Welcome to the garden.
The Wonderfully Patient Spouse gets a big shout-out here for almost single-handedly completing the Great Back Forty Clean-up of 2011. I think he might have knicked a couple cone flowers in the furor of his weed abating, but I won't tell the WPS if you don't.
(Note: I wasn't a complete lump in the clean-up process. Yesterday, I took on the taming of our 7-foot yellow shrub rose. Seventy-five scratches on my arms and one puncture wound to the inner thigh later, I can report he is tamed.)
And Ben? He has been of no use whatsoever in the garden. His "contributions" amount to this:
Which the sparrows have now appropriated as their summer dust bathtub.
and attempting to entice us into playing ball with him by discreetly and delicately placing soggy soccer balls between our shoulder blades as we weed.