Beautiful disorder.

I remember worrying about tidy rows. Organized rotations. The choreography of organic vegetable gardening.

I know, now, that milkweed and potatoes can be friends with a volunteer squash sidling up.

Or that an asparagus crown doesn’t mind a four-year-old beet over its head with a pin cushion to the side and lettuce and onions all down the bed.

One more week and the garden isn’t mine. I picked a lot of carrots today.

I am crossing my fingers the seeds from the brassicae will be ready by Monday. I will gather them however they are and find out in a few months if they were ready.

I need to research asparagus crowns. Mine started as seeds in the laundry room years ago and I don’t want to upset them through my ignorance during their removal and transport.

Anyone remember when I planted the potatoes, by chance? I think, sadly, they still have a month to go but perhaps you know differently.

I think he remembered.

It’s been ages since he’s been. Five years, perhaps? Half his life.

He saw my grubby shoes go by the door.

Wag.

I put on sunscreen.

Dance.

I grabbed my keys.

Whine. Whine.

I picked up the leash.

Loaded in the car, he quieted. Tongue lolling. Bracing corners. Toppling.

Just before the driveway to the parking lot.

Whinewhinewhinewhine.

Pranceprance.

I know, buddy, me, too.

Any guesses on this volunteer?

Uprooting

In a short few weeks we’ll have moved. Back to where we came. Three miles west.

To ready the house, to sell the house, to greener pastures in the form of better schools and shorter commutes.

I may not have a garden this spring. Or I may be keeping this one up for months, housing market dependent.

But I’ll bring some along for the ride, like this 4 year old chiogga beet.

While others will be gone before the house changes hands.

Any tips on moving asparagus crowns into containers for a few months?