Anyway, cant carry on moaning about being tired, instead, must keep farming.
Last friday the boys and I spent the afternoon covering our chits with soil. No – not pretending to be cats in the garden, but becoming right on organic potato growers (dont hold me to this bit I have no idea if what I am doing is organic or not… I don’t use nasty fertilizers…but I also don’t cover anything in poo). Like most normal people with children and footballs, we don’t have a death trap that is a greenhouse. So, every day I drag my chitting tats out of the shed and in to the sunshine – like some sort of mental (gro) bag lady. I feel like a farmer. “geeeee yup” I say each evening, heaving behind me a sack of soil and chits back in to the shed. To be honest, I am probably doing more damage than the feared frost, probably traumatising the little chit fellas by dragging them around every morning and evening. But, in my head I am focussed on warmth and security not loose roots, a bit of jiggling around and nervy-ness. This is how I raise my children. This is how I will grow potatoes.
I would accessorize with appropriate clothing, but the only clothing I associate with farmers is dungarees and to be honest I firmly feel the only people who can pull off wearing dungarees are babies and lesbians. I am neither.
I’m not good with dirt. Alex was happily weidling a bucket round his head left outside since last summer and now home to bird shit and woodlice. It made me anxious….I looked down at my hands and nails, now crusted with soil and dirt. I had a panic. Did they put horse poo in B&Q bags of soil? Would I catch ring worm? I can’t be doing with ring worm…unless is that the parasite which makes you skinny? (joke).
We went up to our local Sure Start centre this week for a mini gardening lesson. We were taught about growing garlic by 8 year olds who really knew their stuff and knew things about growing garlic I had never even imagined. I was incredibly impressed but of course my enthusiasm cup runneth over and I began stumbling about in the heat (a balmy 9 degrees) verbally diorhearing at anyone who would listen – an incoherant mumble of;
“Did you know that you grow garlic from a clove of a garlic bulb? Just pluck it off an existing bulb and put it in soil? Did you know that if you plant the garlic bulb upside down and therefore incorrectly it just turns it self up the right way? Like MAGIC!?”.
Of course they did – they were in the same lesson as I was and just heard the Exact. Same. Thing.
“I am never buying garlic again! Down with the extortionate garlic prices in The Big 5!” I said to Tamwar, age 8, my teacher.
He looked a bit blank.
“Do you grow garlic at home Tamwar?”
“Nah. dont like it”.
“Oh right. Potatoes? carrots?”.
“Nah. Don’t like ’em” *he kicks at the overgrown grass on the gorund, hands in pockets* “I grow peppers”.
“Cool. Do you like peppers then?”
Right then….the conversation had run its course…I don’t like silences, they panic me…er…er…
“Tamwar…what are your thoughts on dungarees? Coming back into fashion or continuing to be a fashion no-no?”.