I put the (almost) finishing touches on my new Amish-built raised garden bed. My first, which adjoins it, was a great success in my eyes. Now I can do twice as much next June.

We adopted a new layered approach: overturned plastic and clay plant pots for draining and ventilation, covered by a layer or two of old hay and chicken droppings (excellent fertilizer), then alternating layers of topsoil and donkey manure (the best garden fertilizer).

It rained for much of last night, and that helped to settle our brew.

This morning, I went and got four more bags of topsoil. We’ll put some cardboard to keep weeds out and perhaps tarp the garden bed for the winter.

I’ll plant around Memorial Day, still choosing seeds. And no, I’m not reusing those from this year; there are only so many hours in the day.

Gail, a blog reader from Missouri, scolded me this morning. “I’m a regular reader of your blog. You keep saying “we” are building the new garden,” she said, “but all I see are photos of Maria working hard. How can you say “we? Do you do anything?”

Social media never ceases to amaze me; it has become a plague of sorts, its pandemic spreading busybodies,  rudeness, and insensitivity.

(Finished For Now).

Many women out there don’t like men (and lots of men who don’t like women), perhaps because they have had few good experiences with either.

I decided to write Gail and “say, I’m so sorry, Gail, poor Maria does all the work and gets no credit. I’ll do better.”  She hasn’t responded.

It is true; Maria does the bulk of the farm’s heavy chores now, my legs aren’t into it any longer. Bless her soul.

My role was to get the soil, open the bags, spread it around with the donkey manure, and level it with shovels and spades. I’m not yet into photographing myself while working, and Maria is a lot more attractive to look at than I am.

So I’m happy with this arrangement.

You know where Gail can take her observations and put them.

This was great fun, “we” had a blast putting it together yesterday, and “I” was permitted to get to the hardware store, buy more soil (14 bags altogether) and take my bandaged leg out in the rain this morning and finish the job. I got five hours of sleep apnea last night (almost six hours) and am full of myself.

Maria and I high-fived each other when the last bag of soil was scraped level.  We’ve done a nice job. Maybe some champagne.

This garden will rock. All I need now is Spring.  Thanks for coming along at the creation.