veggie patch

Yard work seems to be contagious. Last Monday, my Dad and I planted a little garden in the backyard. It was about 50 degrees and rainy; it was also my 26th birthday, and for some strange reason I had the song "Peggy Sue" by Buddy Holly stuck in my head all day. I wore my mud boots and Dad wore this ridiculous getup: Lowe's bags tied around his ankles, and a garbage-bag-diaper-shorts-protector.
















(The birth of a garden: from August, to November, to May.)