There is a second weekend of plant sale. It arriveth momentarily. Based on the numbers so far, I have outspent my profits by a factor of three. In some ways, this makes total sense, because my expenses included things that I will never have to purchase again. Grow lights, a seedling heat mat, a shelving unit for the trays, etc. Next year’s numbers will look radically different.
But man, it doesn’t make my heart flutter in a good way.
I’ve been coming home from longer work days (everyone is doing the same thing at the same time and my back is sore and I’ve already got a farmer’s tan.) and then repeating the work in my own garden. I cannot get the dirt out of the creases of my hands.
There is something glorious in this, and utterly romantic to the girl who feels romantic about these things, and yet I’m fall down tired, middle-aged, and the kids keep wanting food. I don’t even like pizza anymore and its so damn expensive to fall that way. They just keep wanting food.
The one thing that i did sell that was a boon was bouquets. I made little bouquets from the flowers given to me by flower boss and they jumped right out of my hands. At eight bucks, they were a steal and they were stolen. Makes me wonder and feel happy that i’ve been planting my flower beds so well this year. I wonder if there is a drive-by market for bouquets on my street. Hmm.
But I’m tired, man. Very tired. And yes, energized in my core. Growing things is pretty damn magical.
IF YOU WANNA SING OUT, SING OUT.