May 5, 2008

 

I think my husband Tim is wonderful.  He’s handsome, sweet, funny, brave, devoted and kind.  He spoils me and he’s really a wonderful guy.  No, really, he is.

He’s always had a mustache but he recently grew a goatee.  Several of our friends have them.  Even the word is just kind of gross.  I hate it and tell him so every time he asks me.  Pushing 62, and now resembling Colonel Sanders, I’ve taken to calling him “The Colonel,” but just to myself mind you.

The Colonel will be a great swelling well of stories, a never ending tale.  After all, we’ve been married for nearly 30 years.  So, when something comes up, I’ve decided to write about him and our adventures together; small and great, good or bad.  

Here is the first installment:

Life With The Colonel:  The Man From Mars

 

According to the tri-fold “2008 Moon Sign Dates” brochure from Earl May, one of the best times to plant potatoes is around April 25-27.  With this in mind I dutifully bought enough for two very long rows and cut them in pieces to cure out on the back porch for a day or so.  

Tim wasn’t working full time during that week and was bouncing off the walls, looking for things to do.  The weather continued to be cool and wet.  Occasionally frost would form on the grass next to the creek.  But, Tim had joyfully raked out the compost pile in the middle of the wintered garden, spread manure and tilled the whole thing at my bidding.  I told you.  He’s a wonderful guy.

Now, here it was 6:50 a.m. and I was trying to get ready to leave for work/school at my usual time.  It was brisk as we crunched through the frost, the sun not quite up, the birds hushed in the trees.  He listened intently and even asked questions as I gave him instructions for digging rows for potatoes.  Two rows, from this fence to that one, twelve inches apart, six to eight inches deep.  I even explained how they were planted, and how they grew before rushing off for a very full day.

I ended up staying a little late, I was hungry and hoping that he’s have dinner started.  I told you he spoils me.  But I walked down to the garden anyway just to see.  

The rows were razor straight and measured; bright yellow string ran tightly between evenly spaced, perfectly straight and cut wooden stakes.  I felt Tim come up behind me.  The rows were twelve inches deep and six inches apart.  He proudly showed me how they measured exactly twelve inches from the middle of each row.  Wow, I said.

Later, after he had gone off fishing for a couple hours, I filled in the rows.  No need to talk about that.

So, here it is, May 5, Tim is back working full time, and according to Earl May, today is a fine day for planting potatoes.  So, that’s exactly what I did.