by underswansea


Thunder storms, rain and heat. So I’ve been told. The garden is waist high, so I believe.

The weeds and lawn have missed me, that’s for sure.

The lettuce is going hard. The earlier strains are bolting. The red romaine is forming heads. The garden is in need of thinning. I picked six bags of lettuce and gave them away in the afternoon.

Willow runs wild ripping up the kale and raspberries. There is plenty so I don’t make a fuss.

The spuds are ready. The blossoms are dyeing. A sign the baby spuds are ready. I will wait for Lisa to come home before I dig a root. She loves new potatoes and it wouldn’t be fair to have them without her.

I visited Kurt today. Maynard ignored Willow, in spite of her constant pestering. Deb was off in the bush. Her flowers look spectacular! I stole a few of her radishes and they were hot as hell. I left her a bag of lettuce, but doubt she’ll need it from all the romaine she has planted.

My good neighbour made me a pork chop, shrimp and baked potato. We drank his homemade wine.

He toasted me saying. ‘It’s better to be a grandfather than not.’

I said, ‘What the hell does that mean?’

He said ‘It’s not like we’re after women anymore.

Though true, I still didn’t get it, but it made me laugh.

Willow is rough with the garden. Once it would have bothered me. But now not so much. I’m a grandfather after all.