As mentioned the other day, it is our tradition to do all of our spring planting on Good Friday. Mother, who we affectionately call “Pope-ette D”, swears that plants prosper when put in the ground on this holy day. And with a thumb as black as mine, who am I to argue with such belief?
Best intentions aside, we got busy shopping in the morning and watching GLEE! in the early afternoon. And when a walk in the park with bestie F turned into Bahamatinis, blue crab dip and lobster rolls at our favorite haunt, before I realized it the day was nearly done and my plants weren’t any closer to the ground than when I picked them up at Pike’s two days prior.
So, at nine-thirty last night, Mother, the PCP and I loaded up the red wagon and headed to our plot in the club’s garden to plant the darned things by the light of the moon, a lantern and a flashlight. The PCP did all sorts of strange flashlight dances in his alien “fleecy sleeper” while Mother and I got the tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, eggplant and herbs in the ground.
About an hour later, we were ready for part two of our escapade – my pots at the house. Honey came out to see what the ruckus was all about and could hardly believe we’d been out gallivanting around the neighborhood in our jammies to plant not only an entire garden plot at the club but seven pots at home. Never a dull moment.
We had a rollicking good time on our late night expedition and, I’ll have you know, every single veggie, flower and herb was planted before Good Friday turned Holy Saturday. Whew!