Quote of the Day:  The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. –Ernest Hemingway (from bro-in-law KC)

I am not much of a gardener.  My mom has a garden the size of a small field.  I must have had my fill of gardening, weeding, and canning, growing up on the farm, so I use pots to grow my tomatoes, peppers, and flowers.

My bro-in-law KC has a rooftop pot garden.  I’ve invited him to write a guest post.

My sister-in-law, Mary, has asked me to write a little this week about my pot garden, where I don’t grow pot mostly because it is illegal, but also because I entered college later in life.



The problem with writing about my non-pot pot garden where I don’t grow pot for my sister-in-law, Mary, is I don’t consider it a pot garden at all, but a bucket garden.


Pot, to me, sounds far too dainty and ephemeral in either usage: the curved lines of a decorative container or the curled wisps of smoke and patchouli rising from someone’s confusion. A bucket is more substantial, the workhorse of the container world. It’s more straight-forward. A bucket is something you can sing to Liza about, even if she’s just going to tell you to fix it.


So anyway, I think you could probably grow weed in a bucket just as well as a pot, provided you knock some holes in it for drainage, but I only think that because weeds seem to grow anywhere and everywhere you let them, at least in my experience.


I, however, don’t recommend letting a weed grow. Instead, make a bucket list. Mine includes radishes, carrots, white and yellow onions, beets, lettuce, tomatoes, bell peppers, and various spices, not including pot.

Three varieties of tomatoes:
Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil.
Inventive use for wheelbarrows, minus the wheels.
The Radish
And, a little weed.
Journaling Prompt:  How does your garden grow?