Time is slipping through my fingers
by Kathy Purdy on April 20, 2004
I knew it had been a while, but I was shocked to see how long it’s been since I last wrote an entry. I wish I could say I’ve been too busy gardening, but I’ve just been too busy. I won’t go into all the gory details, but highlights include my 18-year-old stove unexpectedly dying–necessitating an unplanned-for shopping trip, unexpected (but very welcome) company, and a request from my mother-in-law to make 4 angel food cakes from scratch–since we have all those eggs–for my niece’s bridal shower. Well, we do have plenty of eggs–the hens out back are putting out a dozen a day–but for the uninformed, one angel food cake needs a dozen egg whites, so four angel food cakes means separating 48 eggs–and then doing something with 48 egg yolks. It was an all day project, but the result was angel food cake that actually tasted like something, and several guests expressed their appreciation.
Oh, well. The weeds you will always have with you.
Kathy Purdy discovered the joys of writing in fourth grade, when she started corresponding with a former classmate. She's been writing letters ever since, first on looseleaf, then electronically, and now as weblog entries. That makes you, the blog reader, her pen pal. Her first independent (though frustrating) attempts at gardening were made in high school, though the gardening bug didn't bite hard until her mid-thirties, when she found herself mistress of a rural home on 15 acres. •
USDA Hardiness Zone:4 • AHS Heat Zone: 3 • Location: rural;
Southern Tier of NY • Geographic type: foothills of Appalachian
Mountains • Soil Type: acid clay • Experience level:
intermediate
• Particular interests: colchicums, narcissus, cottage gardening, NY
native plants, gardening with/for children
I am aware that I have a genetic tendency towards a garden of nothing but Zinnias -- a combination of frugality, laziness, and weakness in the face of all that flash. . . . Knowing what can happen, I restrained myself around the zinnias and didn't pick a single coneflower head.
Anne of Tender Dirt
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