May

Today is May Day. Yesterday, on the last day of April, it rained. The familiar smell of garlic in the garden, one that I once only associated with spaghetti night, was heavier and thicker than ususal. I have come to love that smell.

The Spirit Gardens were forgiving of our neglect. Two weeks of sun, wind, and rain did its job, and the plants continued to grow. Some, the tomatoes particularly, outgrew our expectations -- unstaked, they leaned and then fell ontop of one another, then grew again up and toward the warmth and light. They are wild now, and I will feel a slight regret at having to pull them tall again and into straight, tidy rows.

We pulled the oldest collards, added them to the compost pile, and left their space empty. We, and the bed, needed some time to think what would come next for that soil in that space.