Has anyone read The Botany of Desire? I felt like a slave to my new garden over the long weekend. I never really thought gardening counted as exercise until reaching old age, but I am mistaken. Breaking ground and turning earth by hand–even a small patch (9′ x 12′) is hard labor. This morning I was back at it. I’ve never seen a gopher in my neighborhood before. No sooner than I plant a few vegetables I start making furry friends. Hence the fence. And edging. And rocks. Hopefully he’s to wimpy to dig under all of that. Otherwise I might need to break out the C-4. I’m too tired to bolster any more defenses . . .
My neighbor, who bears witness to my outdoor workout shenanigans, mentioned that she’d never seen me sweat so much. My lower back and hamstrings are pretty fried. My red neck felt nice at jiu-jitsu this morning as well.
A modest start . . .
Aside from the exercise, the nutritional and environmental benefits of growing your own food are numerous, well documented, and are trending pretty heavily right now. My parents, avid gardeners, wondered what took me so long to realize what they all ready knew.
Here are a few websites that might help germinate an interest in gardening.
http://www.organicgardening.com/
As always, thanks for reading. I’m just getting into this, so any tips are appreciated!
Moai Martial Arts 
First few tips, I highly recommend this book as an all around good resource: http://www.amazon.com/Vegetable-Gardeners-Bible-High-Yield-Gardening/dp/1580172121
Second tip for keeping away groundhogs is Fox Urine. They sell it at gardening centers, I had the best luck at a local feed store in Pembroke. There are small vials with a cotton ball that you hang on the fence and fill with urine. It lasts about 30 days and then you refill it.
If you spill any on your hands rub them with used coffee grinds to get the smell out.
Your garden story reminded me of another garden story and the infamous quote of Joel’s Italian grandmother as she walked out from her garden with a groundhog in one hand and a shotgun in the other saying… “You eata my garden, I eata you!” Come to think of it my Italian grandmother would have done the same thing. You gotta love them tough old broads!
Great story! I remember my own mother wasting one of those little guys when I was a kid. We didn’t eat him though . . .