Well, it was just as sweaty, muddy, filthy, and generally gratifying as gardening always is. Nobody got loud, but a good time was had by all. Meaning me, my husband, and nine new rose bushes. I had a good time, and the bushes are literally blooming. And my husband really did get to sit in the shade and read while I mucked about. So Happy Father's Day to him.
You know, the soil around here is loaded with clay. It's not the infamous red clay soil of Georgia (which I really only know from detergent ads) but it is heavy. And dense. And completely justifies the expensive top-of-the-line spades and trowels I buy.
(The way some of you shop at Williams Sonoma for knives and pans? Well, I have a corresponding Chalet habit.)
It is only because of the sharp edge and ergonomically-designed handle of my favorite spade that I survived to take a shower, instead of collapsing out in the yard, my dying request for a Diet Coke (with extra ice, please) rendered all but inaudible from heat stroke.
Instead we had a joyous Father's Day dinner of grilled sausages, grilled peppers, great bread, and beer. With home made chocolate cake for dessert.
And tomorrow? The kids start eight weeks of camp. And my vacation can truly be said to begin.
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