Along with Cookies

Comes Garden Fever. It's different than Jungle Fever and Yellow fever (which I misdiagnosed just today in fact) and even Spring Fever. Garden Fever leads me to the delirious purchase of expensive, glossy books about things clearly beyond my thumbs given the rogue misbehavior of my gardens for the past six years. Garden Fever inspires me to cook eggs six times a day so I can save the cartons to fill with potting soil and marigold seeds that I will then forget to water and throw away sometime in July. Garden Fever brings on hallucinations of warm, rich, freshly rotated compost bins and lush abundant borders which I plan carefully on the BHG website. My back yard is like a minefield full of all the gardens I start when the ground is like a half-thawed steak and abandon when I remember that gardening, when it comes down to the nuts and bolts of it, is a lot of work that only ends up in the stomach of a deer or a groundhog. But I don't care about all that right now because I've got the fever. We are going to be up to our eyballs in beefsteak tomatoes. We are going to see cucumbers and pole beans even when we close our eyes. Cosmos and peonies and wild roses are going to pull up their roots, walk down the street and plant themselves in my yard. That's how wonderful my garden will be this year. OOH I just can't wait.