The Promise of a Garden

The human female has just about given up on planting much this year. Overnight, the weather has jumped straight from apocalyptically rainy to hot enough to fry small plants in one afternoon. It is as if someone flipped a cosmic switch. (Note: Not I! I do not care for heat.) It is certainly too hot to start anything

It doesn’t stop the human female from dreaming, though. She looks wistfully at the seed packets but has pretty much given seeds up as colorfully packaged snacks for bugs and fungus and the colorful photographs and descriptions as so much horticultural fiction.


Besides, for one with two plant-related degrees, she has a surprisingly brown thumb. Her best crop is excuses. "The city water’s too salty." "My soil has too much clay." "I don’t have enough time." Moan, moan, moan.

Sigyn has garden dreams. Mostly, Sigyn dreams of a whole garden full of red flowers.


In addition to the flower seeds, this shop has a plethora of vegetable seeds, though it seems sure that vegetables sold by a company called "Burpee" are bound to give one massive indigestion.


The human female loathes, abominates, and despises both beets and cantaloupe. I think I’ll give her something to justifiably whine about and plant some of each in her one flowerbed that actually grows anything. Spin the rack, Sigyn. If they have any horseradish seeds, we will purchase some of those as well. I believe that would be what Midgardians call a "trifecta."

>|: [


    1. The bed under the bedroom window is not completely wretched. But yes, the spaghetti squash in the compost heap are all gone. I didn’t trust them. Pasta is pasta and cucurbits are cucurbits, and never the twain should meet.

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