Melons and miracles

I need ibuprofen – large quantities of ibuprofen. I’m talking kissing up to the recommended maximum dose with a healthy Pinot chaser. I’ve been in the garden all day – or as we have come to call it – Cucumberpalooza.

If you follow Babble, you may recall my early Sprouts post. A little recap – my son and I started a vegetable garden for the first time EVER.  A repeat offender in the seedy underworld of plant-homicide, I believed channeling Mr. Greenjeans was a far reaching possibility for my two left thumbs, but alas, the work has paid off and we now have enough veggies to rival even the most seasoned of farmers.

The garden began as a promise to a friend who lost her valiant battle with cancer. In one of our post-chemo chats she coached me in what to plant, (aka – what she knew I couldn’t kill), how to tend the newborn sprouts, and most importantly – how to disconnect from the trivial worries we all carry from day to day and just enjoy a little time in the dirt; nothing clears the mind like dirt.

So - there I was today, knee deep in soil, yanking weeds with a vengeance and feeling sorry for myself for a multitude of paltry reasons - and what do I see tangled among the gargantuan cucumbers; my very first watermelon!

Why are watermelons a big deal? They were the one plant my friend, um, advised may be beyond my planting skills. Knowing she was probably right, I sent up a Heavenward SOS as the seeds went into the ground, hoping for a wee bit of celestial support, and until today - I had not noticed the trailing vine hidden among the rest of the patch.

There you have it, an uplifting melon story for a Tuesday. Now I’m off to soak away the dirt and ache; if I don’t Babble by Friday, send reinforcements.

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