The plastic pale and shovel set was one of the best toys I had growing up. I fondly remember making sandcastles at the beach, digging in the sandbox, and even tasting a mud pie (okay that was not a 'fond' memory, but making the mud pie was!) Somewhere around the age of seven this sort of play lost its appeal to me and was replaced with Barbie riding My Little Pony. Throughout my teenage years inside activities remained highly appealing and I never understood how my mother could spend hours getting dirty out in the garden. Studying, socializing, and a healthy dose of egocentricity carried me through university to several years of renting basement suites. Then an amazing transformation happened last year when my fiance and I bought a house and I found myself with a piece of earth to call my own. The pale, shovel, and array of other gardening tools (including my gnome) were the best housewarming gifts.
We will be in our house one whole year on May 1st. I have watched my garden transform through four seasons and think I know what lies below its soil. The neatly manicured landscape that the previous owner created has grown a little wild, and I have begun the slow process of replacing the purples and pinks with the more vibrant reds and yellows that I like. I now own two gardening books that I actually read and have spent more money at garden centres than on my wardrobe. I still have no idea how to prune a tree or divide my perennials - but at least I know they need to be divided! And as the first anniversary of owning this house draws near I am turning my attention from buds and shrubs to edible greens with my trusty pale and shovel at my side.
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