I built a raised garden bed over the weekend. By which I mean I compiled a list of supplies and handed it over to Rockford and my nephew, who took it to Lowe’s, gathered materials and then stopped for slushies and beef jerky on the way home because they’d done “man work.” And then Rockford and my niece assembled the bed while I was enjoying a leisurely time at the craft store with Chloe Poppins.

I did, however, put all of those bags of Stuff into the finished bed, with some help from the niece and the nephew. It started snowing while we were filling the garden bed, which is internationally recognized as a sign that the garden will be bountiful. (I don’t know that that’s true. I may have made that up.)

So now I have a small garden bed — it’s 8×4 — and absolutely no clue what I’m doing. I want to grow lettuce and peppers and squash and tomatoes and strawberries and haricots vert (because I am fancy) and garlic and onions, but I recognize that my little bed isn’t big enough to hold all of that. Most likely we’ll do tomatoes, lettuce and squash this year. And then if it’s a wonderful and magical thing I’ll build another bed or two next year. In exactly the same fashion that I build this one.