all the possibilities...

When I got home last night I noticed Greg had tilled up the garden. Fresh, moist dark brown soil. This isn't just any garden either. It's huge - well, huge by my terms. I will measure the area, because now I'm curious to how big it actually is. This is my favorite time of year for gardening, which seems strange, because I don't have a thing in the ground. It's the "possible" garden that I love! As we sat and ate dinner last night, Greg and I talked about what to plant this year. And the possibilities are endless.

Now, I have to say right now, Greg is a fruit tree man. Fruit trees are his thing. Quite soon he will drive from nursery to nursery looking for his precious bare-root fruit trees. He was going on last night about cross pollination and more trees. His tree possibilities are endless. More peach, pluot, lime, mandarin, lemon, and pear.

I, on the other hand, am a garden girl. I like the soil, the seeds, the starts. I like the possibilities for the ground. So, here's what we came up with last night. Less squash. I am the only one who will eat it in our house, and everyone in the world grows squash, so when you've had it up to your ears with it - there's no one to give it to, because everyone else is up to their ears with their own squash abundance issues. More pumpkins! I want a pumpkin patch! I want to grow enough pumpkins that Is and Ri, and nieces and nephews can come out and pick their pumpkins from our little farm. I will plant red ones and white ones, the tiny Jack-Be-Nimble ones that are so small and sweet. I will plant carving pumpkins, and the giant ones from heirloom seeds. I will plant cooking pumpkins for James, the brother-in-law chef. But only if he promises to whip up something amazing and pumpkiny for me to eat. Pumpkin risotto? Is there such a thing?

We all voted for more strawberries. I voted for more herbs, flowers and tomatoes. I'm not going for the strange heirlooms that are so darn hard to grow. I am going for our favorites. Greg voted for blueberries and thornless blackberries. Black berries are are whole other subject. Let's just say that by the end of the summer we all look like we live with a killer kitten that has repeatedly attacked all of our arms - but really it's from picking wild blackberries down our lane. The best wild blackberries I've ever tasted.

So, as of 8:23 AM on a foggy January morning, as I sit here and drink coffee, our garden possibilities are endless. Just the way I like it.