Poor Kyle got to sleep in. I had my errands to run. And when we got back together, we had a cookout.
One day, over a year ago, I stood next to Poor Kyle on the back deck of his newly purchased home in Mayberry. It was Autumn, we’d just gotten engaged, the weather was nice, and we had great expectations of all the bonfires we’d host in our fire pit…once we were married.
Who’d have thought we’d actually arrive at this point? The point where we’re starting fires of our own free will, and not just to collect homeowners’ insurance. But because we’re so inclined. To look at them. And cook with them. And burn our trash.
And I feel sorry for you, since none of you were invited to our impromptu dinner. So I’ll give you a recap, in photos:
But just in case you wanted solid proof, there I am. (I’m skinnier in my shadow, which is a blessing, given all the chocolate-covered strawberries I ate for breakfast. And lunch.) My skinny-ish shadow is covering the corn. Only you can’t see anything but dirt because I only planted a few days ago. And evidently, it takes longer than two days for corn to grow. What a rip-off.
If you look closely, you can see the word “CORN” etched laboriously into this copper marker. That’s where I planted corn. Clever, I know.
And this can is what I use to water my tender little transplants. Not that it’s doing any good at all, since I think I already killed the basil:
…today, being married was fun. We have a fire pit. We have a garden. And we’re going camping this weekend, because that’s what ambitious newlyweds do with their first long weekend of Spring.