that road?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe as long as a half hour?”
She sighed. “Well, Uncle Colin, you can get sun a lot easier. My place on the other side of the trees is a couple of turns off 36. You can paint in my front yard or backyard. I don’t mind and you’d be a lot less trouble that way. You won’t need a gun and I won’t need to duck all the time. But I’ve been planting bulbs around the house and drive and walk, too, so try not to step on the new plants.”
“Jillian, when does all the wildlife pester the garden?” he asked.
“Dawn. In fact, right up till eight o’clock. They’re back again at dusk. They probably hang out back here. I’m sure they stay around the trees. They’re so cautious when they come out.”
“Show me your garden,” he said.
“It isn’t easy,” she said. “You might want to go down that road and around to 36 and come up the front way.”
“If you can do it, I can do it,” he said. “So? Let’s do it.”
She sighed, shrugged and turned to walk back into the trees. With the rag wrapped around her hand she carefully parted the growth. It wasn’t exactly a narrow copse, and there was no path, and because she was not totally familiar with the property she wasn’t entirely sure of the most direct route back to the house. She hadn’t been inthe house long and the only part of the property she knew was what surrounded the house.
Finally they came through and arrived at the garden area. A large, rectangle portion of it was tilled, turned and planted. The place was huge. There were stakes along some rows, marking the plants. Then there was the house. Astonishing.
Colin took off his straw cowboy hat and rubbed a hand over his head. “Whoa,” he said. “Look at that house! You rent that?”
“Mainly for the kitchen window, back porch and yard. That part of the house reminds me of where I grew up.”
He took in the garden. “That’s quite a farm you got there. You been at this a long time?”
“Like I said, I was trying to catch up…”
He looked down at her. He lifted the brim of her ball cap. “How long?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ten days. Maybe a little less. A week?”
“Did you start from scratch?”
“Oh, no. I think that garden has been there for fifty years or so, but I can’t tell how much of it was used by the woman who used to live here. If she was an experienced organic gardener, she probably planted stuff in alternating sections just to regenerate the soil. I could see the established rows. I weeded, tilled, started planting seeds. I’ve planted less than a quarter, but I’m ready to plant more.”
He whistled. “No wonder you’re covered in dirt.”
She laughed at him. “There’s a tiller in the shed, but I like the hoe and shovel and trowel and cultivator. I like to get close to the garden. My nana used to say the secret to excellent gardening was to be close to the dirt and the plants. Besides, dirt washes off.”
“You’ve been doing this for a week?” he asked. “Jesus, girl, got a little OCD going on there?”
“Maybe a little,” she said with a grin. “When I get into something, I just really get into it. I bet it’s that way with your painting.”
Colin shook his head. “It’s not like that. I’m not obsessed.”
“Well, I’m not obsessed, ” she returned, insulted. “It’s just when I take on a job, I like to do a good job!”
“Yeah,” he said absently, moving closer to the garden—the long, perfect rows, the stakes, the starter plants here and there. “Mostly seeds?”
“And some seedlings,” she said. “Some bulbs around the ends—she had some in her shed. I have no idea what they are, but we’ll find out. I suspect tulips, irises, daffodils and lilies. I put some along the front of the house, too. I have some new starters up on the porch, so I’m getting the bed ready. And I have some baskets to hang around the porch—it’s a new thing, cherry tomatoes that grow out of the
“I’m not sure. Maybe as long as a half hour?”
She sighed. “Well, Uncle Colin, you can get sun a lot easier. My place on the other side of the trees is a couple of turns off 36. You can paint in my front yard or backyard. I don’t mind and you’d be a lot less trouble that way. You won’t need a gun and I won’t need to duck all the time. But I’ve been planting bulbs around the house and drive and walk, too, so try not to step on the new plants.”
“Jillian, when does all the wildlife pester the garden?” he asked.
“Dawn. In fact, right up till eight o’clock. They’re back again at dusk. They probably hang out back here. I’m sure they stay around the trees. They’re so cautious when they come out.”
“Show me your garden,” he said.
“It isn’t easy,” she said. “You might want to go down that road and around to 36 and come up the front way.”
“If you can do it, I can do it,” he said. “So? Let’s do it.”
She sighed, shrugged and turned to walk back into the trees. With the rag wrapped around her hand she carefully parted the growth. It wasn’t exactly a narrow copse, and there was no path, and because she was not totally familiar with the property she wasn’t entirely sure of the most direct route back to the house. She hadn’t been inthe house long and the only part of the property she knew was what surrounded the house.
Finally they came through and arrived at the garden area. A large, rectangle portion of it was tilled, turned and planted. The place was huge. There were stakes along some rows, marking the plants. Then there was the house. Astonishing.
Colin took off his straw cowboy hat and rubbed a hand over his head. “Whoa,” he said. “Look at that house! You rent that?”
“Mainly for the kitchen window, back porch and yard. That part of the house reminds me of where I grew up.”
He took in the garden. “That’s quite a farm you got there. You been at this a long time?”
“Like I said, I was trying to catch up…”
He looked down at her. He lifted the brim of her ball cap. “How long?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ten days. Maybe a little less. A week?”
“Did you start from scratch?”
“Oh, no. I think that garden has been there for fifty years or so, but I can’t tell how much of it was used by the woman who used to live here. If she was an experienced organic gardener, she probably planted stuff in alternating sections just to regenerate the soil. I could see the established rows. I weeded, tilled, started planting seeds. I’ve planted less than a quarter, but I’m ready to plant more.”
He whistled. “No wonder you’re covered in dirt.”
She laughed at him. “There’s a tiller in the shed, but I like the hoe and shovel and trowel and cultivator. I like to get close to the garden. My nana used to say the secret to excellent gardening was to be close to the dirt and the plants. Besides, dirt washes off.”
“You’ve been doing this for a week?” he asked. “Jesus, girl, got a little OCD going on there?”
“Maybe a little,” she said with a grin. “When I get into something, I just really get into it. I bet it’s that way with your painting.”
Colin shook his head. “It’s not like that. I’m not obsessed.”
“Well, I’m not obsessed, ” she returned, insulted. “It’s just when I take on a job, I like to do a good job!”
“Yeah,” he said absently, moving closer to the garden—the long, perfect rows, the stakes, the starter plants here and there. “Mostly seeds?”
“And some seedlings,” she said. “Some bulbs around the ends—she had some in her shed. I have no idea what they are, but we’ll find out. I suspect tulips, irises, daffodils and lilies. I put some along the front of the house, too. I have some new starters up on the porch, so I’m getting the bed ready. And I have some baskets to hang around the porch—it’s a new thing, cherry tomatoes that grow out of the
Similar Books
