container garden

This isn’t a shed so much as it’s relocating something to a better place. But since the move is likely to change the status of a whole system from “broken and making me mad” to “working and increasing my cheer,” I’m counting it.

Our yard is a fairly mature second-growth oak-hickory woods. The only space I have enough sunlight for a garden is a narrow strip out by the street. I supplement it with planters full of home-made compost. Every spring and fall I get my blood pumping for another try, but onions and okra are the only crops I’ve successfully grown. Mostly, I just feed the white-tailed deer in our neighborhood: two does and a fawn that form a little herd and a solitary yearling buck. I’ve observed them often enough, long enough, to have named them: “Sausage,” “Stew,” “Bambi,” and “Steak.” They don’t know it, but we’re in an undeclared state of war.

At church, however—twelve miles away—there’s an enclosed courtyard right outside my office window. I defy Sausage and her voracious get to find my container garden there.

container garden haunted by ghosts of swiss chard denuded by deer

shedding style: relocate
destination: a better place

Comments welcome … what might you shed today?

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