Last fall, I planted a cover crop of beans in one of the garden plots. It was an experiment that worked out well. All summer, the spot was under a tarp to kill the grass. After tilling in lots of organic material, I broadcast a package of dried Great Northern beans, then tucked them in with the nice soil. The beans grew, covering the soil and shading out weeds. They obligingly died back with the heavy frost. The roots apparently held the soil all winter.
So this spring, all that was growing on that little plot were the tiny blue flowers. I took their picture, appreciated their beauty and then tilled them under. It made me feel ungrateful, but even little plants can keep the soil from drying out for planting.
Other garden chores can be done at any time, but the soil is finicky about when it can be touched. Too wet and it later turns hard like cement. Too dry and it has already baked like a brick.
Some years, the spring rains keep coming and there is never a time for the cool season vegetables to get planted.
There is always a big rush to get in the early garden. One day, the soil is workable. The next day, or even later in the same day, a big rain is on the way. Often, those dark clouds are visible in the wings, sending impatient flickers of lightning and grumbling to hold center stage.
So, in the morning I murdered the tiny blue flowers. Then I flung myself headlong into weeding grasses in the flower bed, while a warm spring breeze dried out the garden soil.
The sunshine, the chorus of peepers, the birds singing and the loose dirt made me feel I was in Heaven.
All day I kept weeding, then I ran Tillie in the garden again and picked out the dying bodies of the tiny blue flowers, RIP. I consoled myself with the knowledge that there were about fifty million more of them on the place.
It was exciting for me to plant some snow peas. In the three previous springs since I moved here, the clay soil was too slow to dry out enough to plant them. Then came the hot weather and it was too late.
Now, there was also enough room, barely, to squeeze in a wide row of spinach, kohlrabi, turnips, carrots, lettuce and three kinds of radishes.
Gathering up all my tools, I was finished, in many senses, by sundown. The sky was clear and I wondered about that ninety percent chance of rain the weather radio was talking about. That forecast had driven me like a mule all day.
In the night, I heard the gentle rain on the roof. Contented, I rolled over in bed. Or I tried to roll over. It seemed that every muscle in my body was sore.
