Every year I say I'm going to get a head start on my garden; most years it doesn't happen. It doesn't help that my garden is 650 square feet of largely red clay.
At one point it was appreciably better amended; at one point I was appreciably younger too. But when we expanded the house to fit all the Nodlings, a lot of fill dirt got dumped in my garden which puts the lousy soil on top -- oh, and rocks, HOW we've got rocks (did I mention the rock quarry down the street?)
So I had to wait for the rains to begin in order to till the garden, otherwise even with a front end rototiller it's impossibly hard. What I need to do is haul half the dirt out and replace it with grade-A topsoil. In the meantime, I just keep amending and tilling.
So that part is finally done; now I've got seeds in their starter pods. I think I was trying to make up for lost time, because I overbought on seeds. We've got bush basil, purple basil, savory, beets, cantaloupe, zucchini, cow peas, black beans, green beans, peas, leeks, sweet yellow onion, parsnips, corn, yellow banana peppers, cucumbers, Bibb lettuce, strawberry, and celery.
I still need tomatoes, bell peppers, and yellow squash. The kids want pumpkins. Sigh. I've got to fit all that into 650 square feet.
To let you know how I feel about my garden, I was planting in the rain. Here is my post from last year when I was waxing poetic (an original!).
I have a mistress to whom my wife bids me go; "Indeed", she says, "you have been away too long".
It is not a lady that beckons, but rather the earth in my garden. For three years she has lain fallow; no crops, no food, no fruit of the earth has she given me. "Alas", I sigh, "my lady lies barren, my mistress comforts me not."
A man comes from the earth, made by the effortless hand of God; a man toils in the earth to bring forth its fruit by the sweat of his brow -- such is his doom. And yet the garden is his refuge, he longs to feel the land beneath his feet; to plant and to furrow; to take delight in the tender shoots from the earth; to reap and to gather the work of his hand.
If God in His mercy sends His rain in due season, yet shall she bear forth. My fields are plowed, my garden prepared -- let the sowing begin! "Come.", my mistress beckons, "Come and let it begin again."