Later, the property was divided, creating an L-shaped acreage here that took in the garden. Nearby is a falling-down barn. A person with money would have it bulldozed and carted off. It remains a sad sight with trees closing in like mourners at a grave site.
The problem with that arrangement was the barn and garden were no longer accessible.
It's not the first time I've considered making a garden in the almost-level land. The presence of the Yeller put me off the idea. Then the place was vacant. I waited to see if the new owners might prove congenial. Now that the house is a pile of rubble, it doesn't appear there will be new owners any time soon.
My tiered Whimsical Garden is only big enough to be a cute kitchen garden near the house. There's not enough room to turn the big tiller, which also gags on the clay soil. Rain runoff makes the whole thing a washout, literally.
What I require is a garden big enough to give me vegetables for the entire year.
Elbow Room
The reason I moved here is I don't like to feel crowded. I believe vegetables feel the same. Green beans squeezed in together can't breathe. This year, I'm going to grow pole beans on a found TV antenna, continuing my Junk Motif. That should help those legumes.
The broccoli barely grew in the clay soil. For many years before moving here, I've grown Packman broccoli and frozen lots for winter eating.
Yesterday, the broccoli and cabbage seedlings had their first fifteen minutes of fresh air and sunshine on the front porch. I believe they heard me discussing the possibility of the new, loamy location. It was just like mentioning candy to small children. Now, they will not stop whining for me to give it to them.
However. . .
Admittedly, there are drawbacks to the location, which is a bit of a hike. There's no water up there, but we usually get plenty of rain. Tragically, the marvelous loam is covered by dense hummocks of fescue.
Far below, along the muddy riverbank, many raccoon tracks were a tip-off that it would be a bad idea to raise corn, melons or strawberries. No sense going to all that work for those robbers.
Nevertheless, the Work Has Begun
Seedling oak and hickory trees have sprung up all over the garden. The ones in the small section that I have designated for this year's reclamation were such slender speciments that I cut them down with the pruners. I'll get to the others soon with the chain saw; they're not very big.
While I was at it, I pruned down the poison ivy, grape vines and wild rose canes from along the garden fence. There were hardly any.
The steep hill to the garden is home to some unbelievably rampant rose thickets. Attempting to avoid the worst ones, I pruned a path between some invading cedars. Some of the thorny rose canes above my head snatched off my knitted hat and refused to give it back, the bullies.
I plan to keep the path mowed with Fearless, my self-propelled lawnmower.
The Old/New Garden
In addition to lovely level loam, the remote garden has full sun except for in the late afternoon. A confirmed Shadetree Gardener, I cannot work in the blazing sun. Morning shade isn't as good because of how slowly I get in gear.
Another great thing about the garden is it is not visible from the road, giving me privacy lacking at my house.
Tough Welsh Stock
This urge to clear the land and plant crops is no doubt what drove my Great-Grandpa Davies to immigrate here from Wales and farm in Kansas. I guess I inherited some of that pioneer spirit.
That's how the country was populated, with settlers pushing ever westward until they reached the ocean. Interestingly, the garden is at the western limit of my land, with the river beyond.
Westward Ho!
