stereotypical single woman

Whichever way you want to pronounce it - I’m going to have a hell of a lot of them by the end of the summer. This past weekend, in between bouts of packing, my sisters and I went greenhouse-hopping to get plants for our vegetable gardens. I really want to grow some unusual heirloom tomatoes this year - so far I have six different plants: a rutgers, pink brandywine, great white, lemon boy, Mr. Stripey (gotta love the name), and a dutchman (sorry, couldn’t find a page with a pic, also, scroll down underneath it and check out the Radiator Charlie Mortgage Lifter Tomato). However, I haven’t yet moved into the house (I get the keys on Fri) and I’m not sure how big the area for the garden actually is. So I’m cut off from picking up any more, unless I can get my hands on a Boxcar Willie or Hillbilly - the names alone would make it worth the work to cram them in there somehow. I also have four different types of pepper plants (red, green, orange, and purple), some green beans, and a few herbs thrown in just for the hell of it.

Why the sudden interest in gardening? I have no idea. I definitely like to eat the vegetables I grow, but I’ll probably be giving away about 85% of the harvest. One can only make so much sauce and eat so many tomatoes and peppers before the sight of them makes one want to hurl. (Suffice it to say that if you stop by my house in August I will be more than generous with my gifts of homegrown vegetables. In fact I will probably be forcing people to take them or leaving baskets of veggies on people’s doorsteps late at night like some deranged produce fairy) I don’t particularly like playing in the dirt either. But I do really like watching things grow - you start out with this tiny little plant and two months later it’s taller than you are with all kinds of fruit hanging off it. As far as I’m concerned it’s magic. I know there’s a scientific reason behind all of it, but I don’t want to know the technicalities. Just let me believe that it’s magic.