Harvest Moon

I planted seeds six months ago. Beet seeds and carrot seeds. Next to them, I added tomato, pepper, kale, and dill starters. They were placed into two horizontal rows, each five feet long on either side of three steps leading to the front entrance of our home. These two rows constituted (my/a first) garden, constructed without precise measurements, enumerated steps, nor a (pre-determined) budget. I purchased the seeds, starters, soil and garden tools from two local gardening businesses, with the assistance of two (female) gardeners and their time and expertise. Everyday for the next three weeks, I dug into the earth, fondled rocks and worms, added to a new compost pile, and wore a (brown and white striped) sunhat, and a (cotton gray) dress cinched at the waist; or a skirt with a sleeveless top. A four point five foot child inconsistently

(inkənˈsist(ə)nt/ly, / adv.: acting at variance with one's own principles) offered her help. We enclosed the garden with rocks collected from daily walks. Today, I will pull out the kale that has grown 24 inches tall. The kale was delicious. I will also begin to think about the next vegetables I will plant.