The smell of wet earth

I love the day after a good rain. The air is fresh. The tree trunks are dark from the drenching. The grass and new growth glows with light green brilliance. I can't seem to walk from point A to point B without pulling a weed, flinging it across the driveway where it will wilt in the the sun and annoy my husband later. He likes a clean driveway. I like a weed free flower bed.

I spent last weekend moving plants that were not thriving when I originally planted them. After a day in the garden my hands look like I have gotten in a fight with a wet cat. If you have ever tried to bathe a cat, you know what I am talking about. I never seem to remember to wear gloves even though I have a wonderful long pair that go all the up to my elbows. Husband got me those for a birthday. I feel like a cowgirl gardener when I wear them, they just need some fringe on them. I also have a pair of thin deer skin ones. I can really feel the weeds and get way down in the dirt to yank their nasty deep roots out with them. But instead I end up with dirty fingernails, fire ant bites and scratches. Battle scars happily won in my gardens.

My neighbor had a big pile of cedar mulch delivered a few weeks ago. As I come home from work, I stare longingly at the big pile of mulch. I must have been doing this way too much because I had a dream about mulch. Nothing sexy but just that I have my own big beautiful pile of cedar mulch that I am going to lay on the garden. I finally confessed to my neighbor that I was coveting her mulch (not a sin according the the 10 commandments). She laughed and shared her source. I need to make that call today!!