june, when dutiful young farmers tend to their gardens.

Last night we planted the garden.

It was the climax in a long process of preparation that I don't claim to have enjoyed very much. The garden at our house, once renowned for its ability to produce crops considered exotic in Endiang (i.e. watermelons and corn) was left to its own devices for far too many years. The once-loose soil had grown over and turned to sod. I can tell you quite firmly that little kubota rototillers have little effect on sod. Our 200 square foot garden was the result of many hours and countless sore backs spread over two years.

But when we finally had all the seeds in the ground and were able to look at our network of stakes and walkways it was hard not to feel a sense of pride.

Which, of course, I don't expect our neighbours to understand.

For some reason, farmyard gardens have become not as much a place to grow food for the table as a showcase for the owners' ability to make a perfectly straight row.

Our garden, on the other hand, does not possess any straight rows. None of the rows are even a little straight. Come to think of it, we didn't even try for rows - we simply marked off a plot for each crop, took a hand full of seeds each, and went at 'er. There are no right angles - the garden itself is a bit trapezoidal. Our paths meander around the individual crops, marked off by old survey stakes, so it looks as if a condo complex is soon to be built there.

But there's a certain satisfaction that you take from raising your own food that overrides the geometric layout of the garden.

I'm not sure how our garden will come up. It will take a lot of weeding, a bit of watering, and a miracle or two, but I hope that sometime later this summer I'll be able to write to you about how the potatoes are coming or how high the corn has gotten.

As yes, dear reader, you will be welcome to drop on by and share in the bounty.

Regards from Alberta's brush plain.