I’m in full on love affair mode with my iPhone. Those of you who haven’t gotten one yet, just cave in already and make your life better. Succumb to the goodness.

With the magic that is iCloud, all my iTunes are on my lovely phone. It’s downright fantastic.

I devoted this day to gardening and fucked around instead. I got some things done, but by the time I got back from running errands and paying bills, all the landscape cloth had blown to the back of the garden.

Ugh.

Farming is not easy… which is why we have Farmer’s Markets…. so that we can exploit the laziness of the people who want the joy of fresh picked veggies without the back breaking work of it all.

Don’t cry about paying $4 a pound for my divine heirloom tomatoes… they’re worth every penny and at the point I’m selling tomatoes I’ve been fighting everything since February to keep them going. Be thankful and sink your teeth into edible heaven.

At this point though? It’s overgrown and out of control and I look like a woman running uphill, chained to a bus trying to get it all to the point it can be planted. It’s going to be a push, to say the least. I really let shit go last year.

I slip into my uber-sexy garden gnome red rubber Croc boots and head out to face the music with a cocktail, my new garden gloves and my darling iPhone, earphones in- my favorite music loaded.

I get to the gate, which is a little diagonal… and realize this fence issue is going to be next on the list. Slipping the earbuds in and my phone into my bra, pulling on my gloves and setting my drink on the one straight fence.

Ok… now I want a boyfriend. I want a big stupid one too. One that has a tractor, a backhoe and muscles to hammer in my fence posts.

Build me a fence and I’ll blow you’re freaking mind….. Either that or find the damn charger to my cordless drill. Ugh.

I sat to pull weeds in my linen pants and decided I was not dressed for the job, and took them off. I have cute little boy shorts on, I can pull it off as bikini bottoms and it’s sunny. I pulled the landscape cloth back over the garden- and I’m well aware I look a little ridiculous in boy shorts and gigantic red rubber boots, but oh-fucking-well, this is my garden, not a club. I’m not looking for compliments or a date, I’m avoiding the creepy mice that keep running out from underneath the cloth, which makes me scream instinctively.

J- AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

J- Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!

J- Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok so….. I nearly fainted when baby mice went tumbling across the cloth when I pulled it out of the corner of the garden. Tiny little pink mice without their eyes even open yet. I felt horrible. I stopped and collected them, scared to death of their mother but absolutely NOT ok with being the cause of any tiny little baby’s death. 9 in all, and so cold. Aw. I’m scared to death of mice, but these are babies and I feel horrible. I can feel their tiny heart beats and they’re chilly. I took them inside and found a styrofoam cup, cut half of it off and lined it with some fuzzy soft yarn. I’m a pushover for a tiny creature- even mice. Now to locate their antichrist mother. Ewww. My maternal feelings wear thin when I think of that furry grey thing coming anywhere near me. I set the cup down by the hole dug in the soil that looks closest to where they must have been- and went back to work.

Corn stalks to pull, hoses to check… omg… I must be out of my damn mind to want to do this again. Here’s an example of what it looked like in it’s heyday, and what I’m determined to have it look like this summer.

Yeah… Epic.

But? Absolutely worth every minute spent. It’s the heart of my happiness and the key to my joy. My legacy from my beautiful mother. She gave me a happy smile and a heart that’s happiest in the garden. We call it the Yarden, because it’s nearly an acre. It’s daunting… to say the least.

The best things in life always are. You really can’t know joy until you dig potatoes. I believe this with all my heart. So perhaps the 800 pounds of potatoes I grew two years ago is a bit much… but seriously… it’s like digging for treasure, veggie style.

My daddy is a chef. He created a monster when he taught us what tasted good. We have discerning palates. We are not afraid to get our hands dirty…because our mama is an organic gardener.

Hence the 8 rows of specialty potatoes I’m planting.

I’m giggling over my type A obsession in planting my circular garden in graduated heights so that it’s as beautiful as it can be… when I hear a voice over my seriously challenged fence.

C- Hey… you have quite the undertaking.

J- Yeah, while you’re talking, pull some weeds.

I looked up to see a very hot, very bald… very cute guy… walk over my fence and toward me in the mass of weeds that is my garden.

I should remind you of a few details at this point.

I’m in black panties and red gnome boots…. and my “Jenius” sweatshirt. My hair is in a ponytail and I’m praying to God that the clouds above me will open up and strike me dead on the spot with a bit of mercy lightning.

No luck…. the sun actually starts shining. My sweet Sober One Kenobe is making dinner and I’m already late leaving. I’m panicking over the baby mice… but more than anything… I’m dying over my panty-clad reality.

C- Hi. Where would you like me to pull some weeds?

He sticks his hand out and smiles.

C- I’m McHotter-Than-Hell-Pants.

and I’m Mc-want-to-climb-under-a-rock-because-I-have-no-pants.

He pulled a beer out of his pocket and handed it to me. I grinned at him.

C- You don’t remember me, do you?

Uh oh.

J- Yeah, I do.

Not really… but…

C- Art class? Freshman year? I taught you how to draw trees.

Art was not my strong point. I had Mr. Anderson, some crazy ass old man with a toupee who adopted kids purely for the check from the state. Not a good guy. Not a good teacher…

and I can’t draw a tree to save my life… but I can sweet talk a beautiful man with my hands tied behind my back.

J- OH MY WORD! How have you been? It’s so good to see you! Sorry I told you that you had to weed….How are you? How’s life? Fill me in.

Please… cause I have no damn idea who the F you are.

C- Evelyn and I had two kids, both girls, and got divorced. I’m an accountant and out celebrating the end of tax season tonight. Are you finished here? Wanna catch up over dinner?

I looked to my left… and to my right. Weeds for days. I looked at him and realized I’m completely over it.

J- I have plans, but thank you. Have a great night, and congratulations on finishing out the season.

C- Would you like to have dinner some other time?

Deep breath. One quick glance to the baby mice tucked in my favorite cashmere yarn and styrofoam cup.

J- No, but thank you. I’m taking a sabbatical from that sort of thing, but if you feel like taking your dress shoes off to weed with me, come on over. I have Thursdays off.

C- I’ll see you next Thursday night.

J- No, you wont. Perhaps the week after?

C- See you then…here?

He hands me another icy cold Red Stripe out of his sweatshirt and I let myself grin over his shiny bald head.

I thank God and myself for having the self respect I deserve, finally.

J- Two weeks… and bring your gloves… I’d hate to destroy those pretty hands.

He walks away smiling, and gets to the edge of the garden and stands my fence back up where he walked over it previously.

C- I could help you with this fence.

Now you’re talking.

J- Bring your drill too, then. <grin>

Date the need…. right? If this man can build a fence with his hot bodied bald-headed goodness, I just might have dinner with him.

Right after a background & credit check.