Garden of eatin

Do you remember the story about my margarita tree? The post in which I admitted to mistaking my lemon tree for a lime tree? And to my desire for a garden, in spite of my ignorance and apathy? You know, where I said this:

Regardless of my agricultural Irish roots, I'm no farmer. I'm not even a gardener. I like the concept of gardening, of growing my own food. I like it a lot. I'd like to garden. I plan to garden. But I've not really got down to the business of actually gardening yet.

My mom and my girls have saved me from myself. They have made me a gardener. Or more aptly, a water-er of the garden.

My mom and my older girls spent two half days during the girls' spring break buying the baby plants and seeds, and amending the soil, and planting the baby plants and seeds in our backyard's raised beds.

I kid you not. Hallelujah and praise Jesus!

I am so happy about it, and hopeful about the outcome, and committed to growing these baby plants and seeds up to their glorious full vegetable potential.

And let me assure you, there are some of most everything: beets, zucchini, various other squashes, 4 types of tomatoes, chocolate mint (for real!), parsley, cilantro, carrots, eggplant, all manner of lettuces, spinach, and plenty of others plant and seeds that slip my mind at the moment. They did a magnificent job.

I know, I get it, you need proof:

And yes, there are even little garden elves to help me in my watering

Sometimes little blurry Mistah-esque elves.

And so far, so good.

We even ate the first garden-picked salad last week.

Gorgeous, no?