this is going to be the year

That's my go-to phrase regarding our garden pretty much every year: This is going to be the year! 

Let's just say: Hope springs eternal when it comes to our garden. 

Year 1 wasn't so bad. I maybesortakinda let the weeds get a little out of control. Ok, so we had to use the weed whacker at one point. But isn't that its job?! To whack weeds?

Year 2 was just a mess. Don't let the little surprise pictured above fool you. (Somebody found that in a bunch of trees and thought it would be funny to scare the living daylights out of me...and it worked.) It rained for roughly SEVEN THOUSAND WEEKS IN A ROW so nothing grew, and the sad little tomato plants that did survive only produced about a half a tomato a piece. I gave up part way through the summer. 

But every year, I tell myself it's going to be different this time around. And this year, I'm happy to report, it has been. 

For a solid two weeks now.

And by that I mean: the garden still has discernible rows, which is a small victory for me. 

I also planted -- and have managed not to kill -- two lilac bushes, because lilacs are my favorite flower in the entire world. My parents have a 1/10 mile stretch of them, and my favorite time of year is when they're all blooming and the air smells sweet. 

My sisters and I would pick them for our mom, and even though they only last about 12 seconds before the petals started falling off, we loved them. Our dad would go with us out into the pine trees and lilac bushes and help us pick some. He'd lift us up so we could see into the branches of the pine tree where robins built nests, and we'd count the little blue eggs. Good memories go hand-in-hand with lilacs.

And these beauties, even though they're annuals, survived the winter and bloomed again this spring, which is basically like Christmas in May.

Back home in Iowa, humans are lucky to survive the winter, let alone plants. Living farther south has its perks!

Also, little known fact: When you have dogs, also get fences for your garden. Lots and lots of fences. Unless you're into having them dig up your carrots before your carrots even know they're carrots.

See that face? That is the face of a pup who knows not to dig up a carrot.

It's not, consequently, the face of a  dog who knows to leave chickens alone or not to pull out their tail feathers, but heck, we can't have it all.

This may be the year. It may not. But for now, the farmer and I are spending 10 or 15 minutes here or there pulling weeds and grass, attempting to not let the garden tend toward chaos, even though it wants to.

Let's reconvene in August, and I'll let you know how those carrots, spinach, lettuce, sweet potatoes, corn, tomatoes, peppers, peas and watermelon worked out.

Or maybe not. History has a way of repeating itself, you know.