Muck in the Garden

It was chilly this morning so I waited for a bit of sun before I ate my breakfast outside. I didn’t want to have a fire, since it was likely going to warm up, so I opened the windows between the porch and the main cabin and opened up the door to the new part. I also set up my water bag for the shower hoping it would warm up enough I wouldn’t have to have a cold shower.

I began the day’s work by cutting some tongue and groove cedar and working on the south wall of the new part. It goes quick when I actually set out to do it. Once I had tired of that job I went to the creek to oil my log for my new bridge. I hope I get a chance to use it. I think I might just winch it into place as it is, even though it is far too heavy. At least that way I would get some use out of it before it rots. I don’t think I should wait for Dennis’ chainsaw anymore.

Once that was done, I took apart a pallet for its plywood, and just as clouds began to threaten I came back to the cabin to shower. The water was delightfully warm and it was nice to wash off the day. Then I read Greg Bear’s Eon for a bit and took a two hour nap. Likely I’ll be up late now but it is a luxury to be able to sleep when I will and when I’m tired.

In the late evening, around eight, I began to ferry muck from the swamp. It makes a redolent and satisfying slop on my new garden bed that I think will be really good soil. I began the other bed this evening as well, and then occupying the dying light by breaking up dead pin cherry trees for compostable in the garden IMG_8060_smallbed. I should try to bring two buckets of muck from the swamp every day. Then my second garden bed will be ready to go when June first rolls around. I should set up my plants in the greenhouse as well, although it is still cold at night.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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