Except that in the early morning, Billy apparently chased a critter through a row of tomato plants into the bush bean seeds, through the cucumber seeds, back around into the middle of the carrot seeds and out through the spinach plants. I saw him through the window, trotting around the fence line with a mass of fur hanging from his mouth and before he could leap through the dog door and deposit said fur on the Persian rug, I ran outside. He was all "la di da, good morning, Mom, nice to see you...." I'm no dummy, I saw enough of this "What, me?" attitude from my children, who at least would have known how to conceal the shards of straw hanging their snouts. Sure enough, when I peeked into the open bale of straw, there was a possum too damaged to even play possum.
While surveying the damage (to my seeds, not his possum), I tapped into my awareness of what it must have been like to have been a homesteader (or today's agrarian poor, for that matter). What if I had cared for those seeds for an entire year...what if I were dependent on their yield to feed my family?
I am lucky. I can be back in the garden tomorrow morning, with the extra seeds I have in my new, handy-dandy seedbox that Himself made for me.
So while we're waiting for the sun to rise, come walk through my yard with me. I really love how Grace at Windthread gives wonderfully descriptive names to different parts of her property and even her furniture. I decided to do the same thing...the names were vivid, funny...
... and I can't remember a single one.
So never mind that. Here is how the onions see my house:
As you can see, the crop of tomato stakes is doing beautifully...
The concord grapes are coming in.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAR8KNLdqGhTdfE_wtz_uvoWHJdGBgO0gMGRewxEteSe1QeI6PgCq38UyOJYZw5F7Uu3Jzv50XZB_Ec-v3eo_J8-M_GfeEieOP8KIOlpVTnZmlzEg9fN3yNjQTMmTFalIB1zUsR3uatCV6/s1600/concord+grapes.jpg)
We've got lots of flowers right now. You can tell why its called bleeding heart:
But even with all the Torah study I've had, I don't know why this is called Solomon's Seal:
Before the dogs took over, I used to feed the deer my tulips. Every season, they got a different flavor, till I finally gave up. But one hardy lady survived. Must be what its like to be a very old person who has outlived every one of her friends.
The Great Tulip Fiasco Years taught me to always include extremely hardy specimens in my garden, too.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7KRSslfSloGuGL3jmXrPU5HSSjhyl_aai1L-JnIEq-fZqky0TODQ6hvZ0mEWCctLHWcVqO1VdF1QqtpQ_qFqNCN8v4u0ViTYl8ZZ4Ol2xgQGeqaxvJDQBwFQrP1rLac1Sj6xoWQE4qlx/s1600/iron+flowers.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBotY-0b5Lla94TYrvAaYhYoM-bc-MStKwdj0aaYBEae4Z3WOhfmZKbr59mLxdyz-wdS0pAZkgj9KK9MTvo0mHh4QD90H-9CN68_1WxukaQygWIj3ThkjlxiBEarK_QGPv-GOIGkAddEDO/s1600/croquet+garden.jpg)
That concludes our tour...time to go home.