SeaWorld shark dive not so scary

 “Cage goes in the water, you go in the water. Shark’s in the water. Our shark. Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies…” — Quint, “Jaws”

Laurie Sterbens in the shark tank at SeaWorld Orlando

This photo was taken by a SeaWorld Orlando employee from inside the Sharks Grill Restaurant during my Sharks Deep Dive in 2006. In the cage behind the flashed-out reef sharks, I'm the headless black smudge wearing a white helmet on the left.

Commercials on Discovery Channel this week are putting a toothy spin on an old Christmas song by touting Shark Week as “the most wonderful time of the year.” I love Christmas, but I have to admit that I really do look forward to Shark Week all year long.

Coincidentally, it was a Christmas gift that led me to my closest encounter with sharks so far. My husband, Scott, presented me with a gift certificate for the Sharks Deep Dive at SeaWorld Orlando. With the wrong kind of husband, this kind of gift might send you through the house looking for new insurance policies, but Scott is a good guy who just accepts the fact that he has chosen to spend his life with a serious shark geek.

I’ve always loved sharks despite spending most of my life in landlocked Arkansas. Oddly, my career path in newspapers led me to Daytona Beach, Fla., area, which you may have heard described as Shark Bite Capital of the World. It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that this could be either a gift from God or a clear sign that I am hurtling toward some bloody underwater destiny.

Actually, this Shark Bite Capital of the World business is a lot of nonsense. As big a fan as I am of Shark Week, it’s a little irritating to see an area hyped as super-dangerous when the truth is a lot of “attacks” are because an inlet that is a nursery for baby sharks is also a popular surf spot. Juvenile sharks mistake surfers’ feet for fish, which sometimes results in a bite wound that might get a bandage but doesn’t keep the surfers out of the water for long.

There have been more serious attacks in the past, of course, but honestly, I see a lot of tourists doing things that increase their risk — swimming in the early morning or evening, getting in water full of baitfish, swimming out too far. Years ago, before I lived in Florida, I visited Fort Walton Beach with a friend and she remarked one day, “I don’t go out past the sandbar. That’s where the big fish swim.” That stuck in my mind as a sensible policy.

Shark Soup by Laurie Sterbens for the Daytona Beach News-Journal

I wrote about my shark dive experience for The Daytona Beach News-Journal in 2006. Illustration by Marianne Koch.

Anyway, like I said, I’ve never even seen a shark here. Thus the desire to get into the tank at SeaWorld, where their Sharks Deep Dive was my best chance for seeing sharks close-up without having a scuba certification.

Despite having never been in the water with live sharks, my many years of shark geekdom and Discovery Channel addiction had left me slightly jaded. Aquariums are always full of nurse sharks, which seem like big catfish. (Although I’ve been watching a lot of “River Monsters” and I’m not sure I’d be all that comfortable in the water with a 10-foot catfish, either.) Another aquarium favorite is the sand tiger, which has a mouthful of menacing-looking teeth but seems kind of slow and guppylike to me.

I checked the International Shark Attack file before my dive and learned that the sand tiger was credited with 76 attacks on humans, 30 unprovoked and two fatal, between 1580 and 2005 and that the nurse shark was credited with 47 attacks — 10 unprovoked and none fatal. However, it was noted that shark attack figures are skewed to easily identifiable species, meaning that lesser-known sharks could be going around biting people and letting sand tigers take the blame. So, guppies and catfish or toothy terrors? I’d soon find out.

When I arrived at the Shark Encounter, I was taken into a brief orientation where I learned that the Shark Encounter tank included more than 50 sharks (the website now says 30) of various species, including of course, nurse sharks and sand tigers, but also blacktip reef sharks, whitetip reef sharks, saw sharks and Australian leopard sharks. Blacktips!, I thought. Now we’re talking! They’re not “Jaws” but they at least had “Open Water” cred.

After the orientation I donned a wetsuit and boots and entered what looked like a kiddie pool, where I was put into a white helmet, kind of a cross between old-fashioned deep-sea diver and Storm Trooper. This would allow me to breathe underwater and communicate with the SeaWorld staff member operating the cage or the staff member going into the cage with me.

I jumped down into the cage and there I was, surrounded by sharks. The cage isn’t like the shark cages you see on TV; the viewing area is clear plastic so you can’t stick your arm out like I probably would have done. The cage is attached to a track across the rear of the tank and slowly moves from one end of the tank to the other and back.

On the floor of the tank in front of me, I could see a tunnel where Scott was waving at me and trying desperately to take a photo with both me and a shark in it while navigating the moving sidewalk and trying not to knock people over. This was so amusing I was momentarily distracted from the sharks and just watched Scott. Later I saw him standing behind the window of Sharks Underwater Grill restaurant, where he was allowed to take photos alongside the SeaWorld photographer. None of the photos turned out that great, as you can see from the one I’ve included in this post. That was the official photo that we purchased.

As the cage moved slowly across the 125-foot tank, a 10-foot sawfish swam up to and over the cage, and large nurse and sand tiger sharks swam near the cage as well. The blacktip reef sharks and blacktips stayed farther away but did venture closer a couple of times, while the whitetip reef sharks napped on the bottom of the tank.

Despite being surrounded by large carnivorous predators, I found watching the gracefully swimming fish while listening to the aquarium sounds to be relaxing. The effect on me was less thrilling wild animal encounter than spa treatment, but that’s a good thing, too.

Gardening Disaster: I Am an Army of One

Earlier this month I posed the question, “Gardening Disaster: Am I the Only One?” Because it seemed to me that everyone in America suddenly had the natural ability to effortlessly grow bushels of organic fruit and vegetables. Meanwhile, I planted two 1×4-foot container gardens and was immediately battling worms, fungus and some unknown kind of squash cancer. Is it really that easy for everyone else, I wondered, or were there other gardening failures out there, shamefully tending backyard brown patches of doom?

Cherry tomatoes by Laurie Sterbens

These fell off into my hand as I was tying up my cherry tomato plants, so they were either ripe or suicidal.

Nope. Apparently I am the only one. I posted on Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn, and the overwhelming response was: … (crickets).

So, a gardening-impaired army of one, I keep fighting. I’m seeing signs that I might eventually beat this crop-failure thing, but I am also puzzled by new bits of agricultural weirdness. And I continue to find pests sneaking around under the leaves.

The other morning I went out to find a small black worm on a tomato plant and promptly flicked him into outer space. I then found a big green caterpillar trying to hide under a leaf. It didn’t look like a giant, evil hornworm; it was more of a cuddly cartoon caterpillar, and my son immediately fell in love with it. It also had much grabbier feet than the black worms, so instead of being flicked into outer space, it was humanely delivered to one of the shrubs in the front yard that I wish something would eat.

Healthy minature bell bepper plant below failed version of same plant, a twig.

Life is a party for this miniature bell pepper plant, which has sprouted a new round of tiny blossoms. Now check out the leafless, emaciated stick just north of it. This was the pepper plant’s identical twin, treated exactly the same way. Crazy plants.

My two cherry tomato plants lost most of their lower leaves to fungus, but the top halves are doing quite well and in fact seemed to grow a foot overnight. I never thought they’d get big enough to have to tie to stakes, but they were beginning to flop over, so I recruited an ornamental trellis from another part of the yard (that I hadn’t gotten around to putting an actual plant on) and tied the plants to it. While I was doing this, four ripe tomatoes fell off into my hands, so I took that to mean they were ripe though they might have just been suicidal. They weren’t quite as red as the storebought cherry tomatoes I had in the kitchen, but they were red enough. In a taste test, they weren’t as sweet as the professional tomatoes, but they tasted fresh and homegrown. I’m going to count this as a success. So far I’ve harvested two miniature bell peppers and four cherry tomatoes, bringing my vegetable cost per unit down to $10!

There was another miniature bell pepper that made it to a beautiful bright orange — and then the plant died. Meanwhile, its identical twin, purchased at the same time from the same store and treated exactly the same way, is growing beautifully and has sprouted a new round of blossoms. Go figure.

The most success I’ve had with anything has been with the marigolds that I planted too many of in hopes of repelling insects, along with one my son grew from a seed in kindergarten. With one failed pepper plant and an ailing squash plant, I began to wonder if the marigolds were crowding out my vegetables. So I moved them into separate containers and stationed them near the other plants so they can still stand guard.

I then moved the squash plant into a squash intensive care unit, which may end up being a squash hospice. It’s been three days and it seems slightly happier, but that could be my overly optimistic imagination.

Speaking of overly optimistic, I’ve just approached my builder neighbor about putting together a couple of raised beds. I may be an army of one, but if I fail I’m going to go out in a blaze of … um, dirt.

A Berry Good Apple Pie

Rustic apple pie with blueberries in a glass pie plate

Fresh blueberries add a seasonal twist to this apple pie.

Though we’re still berry-pie season, yesterday I decided to make an apple pie. I don’t usually start thinking about apple pie until fall, but there were a few contributing factors. I’d been to church that morning and then worked in the garden. Baking a pie would complete my total transformation into Aunt Bea.

There were apples sitting in a bowl on the kitchen table, looking at me plaintively and whining about being ignored. I’d bought them last week as an alternative to all the berries and bananas we’d been eating. I thought I’d eat them as snacks, convert my son to homemade “apple dippers” and my husband could take them to work. As it turns out, apparently I will only eat raw apples in an office setting, my son prefers his apples corporately cut and packaged, and my husband won’t eat them at all as he is a devout bananavore.

My son also has recently had a mild fixation with cinnamon and loves to help me cook, so I thought this would be a fun Sunday-afternoon project for us. He cheerfully abandoned me, however, when the neighbors offered to take him fishing, so I was left to bake on my own, Aunt Bea minus Opie.

I’ve been making pretty much the same apple pie forever, though I’ve tweaked the recipe here and there. It’s based on an old Martha Stewart recipe for “Old-Fashioned Bottom-Crust Apple Pie.” How old? It appeared in “The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous Cookbook” by Robin Leach, released in 1992. This was one of my first cookbooks and I’m amazed I still have it. Most of the couples featured have since divorced.

Anyway, it’s a good pie, and quick and simple to make. I’ve tweaked the recipe a bit, using whole wheat pastry flour instead of all-purpose. Martha’s version called for serving with a dusting of powdered sugar and topping with whipped cream. I skipped that. The original recipe calls for a pinch of mace, which I never seem to have in my cabinet so it never gets in the pie. I also switched up the procedural order a bit to accommodate my slightly obsessive-compulsive desire to have the sugar and spices mixed together thoroughly and evenly before putting them into the pie.

I added a half cup of blueberries because we’ve been eating blueberries in everything lately. It made the pie filling a little juicier, and it was perfect served warm with vanilla ice cream.

Apple-Blueberry Pie

Crust:
1 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 cup whole grain white flour
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 to 4 teaspoons ice water
Filling:
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch ground nutmeg
3-4 tart apples (such as Granny Smith), peeled, cored and thinly sliced
1/2 cup fresh blueberries
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, sliced into 5-6 pieces
Vanilla ice cream
Combine the butter, flour, sugar and salt in a food processor. Gradually add the ice water until the dough forms a solid mass.
Transfer the dough to a floured surface. Roll into a ball, flatten into a disk, wrap in plastic and chill for 20 minutes.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Combine the sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg in a bowl and stir to blend. Roll dough to a circle approximately 12 inches in diameter and place in an 8-inch pie plate. Fill the crust with half the apples, half the blueberries and sprinkle with half the sugar mixture. Repeat with remaining fruit and sugar mixture. Dot with butter. Fold pastry edges over fruit.
Bake for 45 minutes, until the filling is bubbly and the crust is golden. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

The Picnic Backpack: Blue Spring State Park

For the first five summers of my son’s life, summer wasn’t much different from the rest of the year. He was dropped off by his father or me at daycare, preschool and then kindergarten for most of the year, and in the summer he was dropped off someplace else; a day camp or daycare.

This year was different. Mommy got downsized. So, while pondering options for a future outside of the downsizing-prone newspaper business, I decided to take full advantage of what could be a one-time opportunity for a summer at home with my son, now 6.

Except we’re not home a lot. As often as possible, we like to fill up the picnic backpack and head out for an “adventure.” Last week we decided to have our picnic lunch at Blue Spring State Park near Orange City, Fla. I’d been to the park twice before, but both times were to see the manatees that spend the winter in the 72-degree spring run. I’d never been to the park in the summer, and snorkeling in the crystal-clear water with some of the fish I’d seen there previously sounded like fun. Trevor had recently learned how to use his new mask, snorkel and fins, so I hoped he’d join me.

Blue Spring State Park by Laurie Sterbens

I snapped this view of the spring run at Blue Spring State Park during our recent summer visit.

We arrived at the park just before lunchtime and it was already filled with families picnicing, swimming, canoeing and floating. We managed to find a picnic table, at Trevor’s request, near the playground, and unpacked our lunch. Trevor devoured his peanut butter and jelly sandwich as quickly as possible and made a new friend on the swings, giving me an opportunity to enjoy my salad slowly and study the map of the park to come up with a plan.

I ruled out canoeing since I’d be doing all the paddling, and Trevor isn’t a kayaker yet. Scenic boat tours on the St. John’s River were available, but we were in budget mode. Though the park’s website listed the short, boarded nature walk as the park’s hiking option, there is also a 4-mile half loop that begins at the main parking lot and ends at a primitive campsite. Hikers have to return by the same route, meaning I could end up having to carry a 50-pound kid for 6 to 8 miles. If that primitive campsite had a real fountain of youth, maybe. Otherwise, we’d pass on the hiking trail. (Incidentally, this trail isn’t mentioned on the park website but is on the map provided by the ranger station.)

Trevor was ready to swim, but a walk-through of the swimming area revealed that the water was over his head and there was no shallow area near the bank where he could play. Our solution: We rented a small inner tube ($5 the first hour) and I donned a mask, snorkel and fins and pulled him up the spring run. The area in front of the swimming platform was noisy and crowded with people jumping into the water and kicking up sand, but we crossed to the other side and soon I was able to point out a couple of gar and a few smaller fish as we made our way toward the mouth of the spring.

Blue Spring State Park by Laurie Sterbens

A boarded nature walk runs alongside the spring run, from the mouth of Blue Spring to the St. Johns River. This photo was taken during the winter manatee season. In the summer, the boardwalk is filled with swimmers carrying inner tubes.

Fortunately for me, we only made it halfway to the mouth of the spring before Trevor decided it was time to turn around. Floating downstream, as you can imagine, was much easier than going up and the only difficulty was navigating around the other inner tubes and swimmers as we made our way back to the platform. When we got out, Trevor said he wanted to try to get in with his mask and snorkel, but the stairs leading into the water were so crowded with people going in and out that it was impossible for a little guy to get into the water at his own speed, so we gave up and decided to follow the boarded nature walk to the mouth of the spring.

During my winter visits, Blue Spring was peaceful and pristine, with only manatees in the spring run or a couple of scuba divers exploring the bottom of the spring. This time we passed two pairs of divers on the boardwalk, and they were not looking overly cheerful. This could have been partly due to the fact that scuba tanks are heavy and it was a long walk back to the parking lot. But when we got to the spring I could see another reason they may have been dismayed — it was wall-to-wall screaming, splashing swimmers.

Blue Spring State Park by Laurie Sterbens

A manatee makes its way down the spring run at Blue Spring State Park.

On the way back to the car, we decided to explore the Thursby House, a two-story home built in 1872 by settler Louis Thursby. The house is filled with artifacts and displays that describe the life of the Thursby family, who grew vegetables, raised hogs and caught fish, alligators and other animals in the wilderness surrounding their home. This was about the extent of the information I was able to absorb between answering calls of “Mom! Mom! Look at this!” from every other room in the house, but I was fascinated, imagining what it must have been like to live in such spectacular natural beauty when it was still undiscovered and private.

You have to hand it to Florida State Parks. They’ve done a wonderful job of keeping Blue Spring in a mostly natural and fully beautiful state despite herds of trampling visitors year after year.

Blue Spring State Park by Laurie Sterbens

From Nov. 15 to March 1, Blue Spring is closed to swimmers to provide a haven for the West Indian manatee. Park visitors can get a close-up view of the creatures from the steps of the swimming platforms.

I’ll probably visit again in the summer, and maybe will be able to get Trevor all the way up the spring run next time. But if it’s your first visit to Blue Spring, I’d suggest going during the manatee season, Nov. 15 through March 1. Blue Spring is a designated refuge for the West Indian manatee, and swimming, diving and snorkeling aren’t allowed while the manatees are there. This provides a peaceful setting to view the manatees, turtles, numerous fish and even an occasional alligator napping in the Florida sun.

Gardening Disaster: Am I the Only One?

A few months back I decided to finally let go of my fears, set past failures aside and join the millions of Americans now tending backyard gardens. I figured everyone seems to be doing this. Surely it can’t be as impossible and mysterious as it has always seemed.

People all over America seem to be throwing seeds into the ground and before you know it, boom, they’re harvesting bushels of tomatoes, squash and cucumbers. Michelle Obama stuck a shovel in the dirt one day, next thing you know, “Iron Chef” contenders are running through what appears to be a lush tropical rain forest of vegetables. People are starting gardens on urban plots and restaurant rooftops. Friends, family, co-workers—suddenly everyone is able to grow their own food.

Then there’s me.

I started a small with a container garden; a couple of tomato plants, a couple of miniature bell pepper plants, one squash plant, some herbs. This would hopefully provide some homegrown, organic salad ingredients as well as boost my confidence after an epic tomato-growing failure a few years back.

green cherry tomatoes with marigolds in background.

I’m getting a few cherry tomatoes now, but I’m battling worms and fungus. And the squirrels are out there, waiting.

I purchased good organic soil and read everything I possibly could before starting. My containers were self-watering! Foolproof! I inspected my plants every day. This isn’t so hard, I began to think. Maybe I can be a gardener like everyone else.

The fungus that seemed to develop overnight on the cherry tomato plants was the first indicator that things were about to go the usual way they do between plants and me. It was at this point that I gave up on the delusions of organic perfection and blasted the plants with anti-fungal spray.

Then I noticed all of my squash blossoms had disappeared and the plant seemed to be shrinking and turning yellow. Meanwhile, a friend growing squash in a container in a similar climate reported that she’d had to transplant hers because it got so big.

Sunday morning, after a couple of days of rain kept me from checking my plants, I went out to find that little black worms had reduced much of the tomato plants to fishnet.

I blasted the plants with another dose of spray and flicked the worms, which were now hopefully poisoned, as far as I could flick them. I have to confess, the blasting and flicking were kind of fun. But still, I never hear about anybody else waging such a nonstop, all-out battle against crop failure. Can I be the only one? Or are there others like me out there who just aren’t talking? Is there a vast vegetable conspiracy? A silent majority of fruit-growing failures?

I do now have two miniature bell peppers that appear to be ripe. At about an inch and a half long each, they seem miniature even for miniatures. If that ends up being the extent of my harvest, they will have cost $30 each and aren’t even organic.

two bright red minature red bell peppers on the plant.

These look like chili peppers but are actually miniature bell peppers — very miniature. If they end up being the only thing I harvest, they’ll have cost $30 apiece and aren’t even organic.

I also have quite a few little green cherry tomatoes popping up, but we’ll have to see who wins the war between the worms and me. And the squirrels haven’t even weighed in yet. I live in fear that someday soon I’m going to have to find out how far I can flick a squirrel.

Newbie Gardener in Non-Organic Panic

Being new to the world of vegetable gardening, I’m a little obsessed with it right now. I usually wander out into the backyard to check on my plants first thing in the morning, then I might even check on them again later in the day. With such intense monitoring, you would think nothing could go drastically wrong.

But it did. When I checked my garden Wednesday morning, many of the lower leaves on the tomato plants had turned yellow and spotty. This must have happened almost overnight! Had I already killed my tomatoes? This would be a record even for me.

Cherry tomato plant with fungus

This disease appeared to develop almost overnight on my cherry tomato plants.

Fortunately my dad was visiting this week. My mother was the master tomato grower in the family, but Dad was around enough to see what was going on, and he told me when that happened to my mother’s plants, she had a spray she would use. This was a revelation. My mother’s tomato plants were occasionally weak or flawed? Maybe mine could be saved.

Dad didn’t know the name of the spray Mom used but said it killed fungus, so I hopped in my car and sped off like a plant ambulance in search of an emergency dose of fungus killer. When I got to the home improvement store,  I headed for a section of bottles with pictures of spotty yellow leaves on them.

Now, my plan with this vegetable garden was for it to be completely organic. This is clearly the healthiest, most ecologically sound option and is also madly trendy. I bought organic soil that was organically fertilized and had so far only used cayenne around the plants to keep the squirrels out. But in state of full tomato panic, facing a shelf full of toxic and nontoxic options, my idealism flew out the window. I wanted something that worked, and fast. I looked at the organic label, but it seemed kind of wishy-washy. It seemed to say, “I will probably kill some kinds of fungus. Maybe. Why don’t you take me home and see?” I didn’t have time for that. I needed a product that grabbed me by the collar and shouted, “I KILL FUNGUS! NOW!” Also, the organic product cost a lot more. I went with the old-fashioned stuff. That’s what my mother, the master tomato grower, would have done.

Green cherry tomatoes with marigolds in background.

Though the lower leaves are looking sickly, baby cherry tomatoes have begun to appear up top.

I raced home and sprayed the tomato plants and am hoping for a recovery. They still looked fungus-y this morning and there was something wrong with the squash, so I sprayed that, too. On the bright side, baby cherry tomatoes are starting to appear and the peppers are still with me. The marigolds are fantastic. Too bad they’re not something we want to eat.

In other garden news this week, I received an upside-down vertical strawberry planter as a birthday present. Now I can kill things from a whole new angle.

Pest Paranoia Means Garden Mostly Marigolds

Container garden 6/2010 Laurie Sterbens

My container gardens are growing cherry tomatoes, mini bell peppers, herbs, squash and a whole lot of marigolds.

A couple of months ago I was inspired to plant a small vegetable garden. Besides being a major national trend, I had heard that if my child was involved in growing vegetables, he might actually consider eating them. I have my doubts about this since he has so far proven to be a pretty unshakeable pastavore, but it worked on my neighbor’s kid, so I am hopeful.

Also, my son had grown a plant from a seed in kindergarten and it was starting to look a little depressed in its plastic cup. I thought he would enjoy replanting his seedling and watching it grow.

The only problem with this was not a small one. For my entire life I have been so incompetent with plant life that I seriously wondered if I should be allowed to have children.

My last attempt at growing vegetables was a complete disaster. My mother sent me two Earth Box gardening containers so I could try to grow tomatoes. She had four of these boxes on her deck and from them every year grew an 8-foot-high wall of plants that produced a bountiful crop of beautiful tomatoes all summer. These boxes were self-watering. She was probably thinking that surely I couldn’t mess this up.

But I did. Instead of an 8-foot wall of lush, productive tomato and pepper plants, I ended up with two boxes of emaciated green sticks and one tomato, which was removed and destroyed by a squirrel. Then one day I found the plants completely covered in little black worms. Eeek! I emptied the boxes, stored them in the garage and was too traumatized to attempt even a small container garden for years.

Though I had seen some appealing plans for small, raised-bed gardens in such magazines as Better Homes and Gardens that were as simple as buying three planks, sawing one in half and attaching them, I never seemed to be able to get this done. Plus, with my history of crop failure, it didn’t seem sensible to devote even a 4 x 8 plot to what might end up being a tomato graveyard. The two boxes in the garage would be just the thing. Baby steps.

I selected a sunny spot near a water spigot and on the opposite side of the house from the squirrel-infested orange tree. Then my son and I were off to the home improvement store to select our plants. Keeping with my theme of “baby steps,” I chose two cherry tomato plants and two miniature bell pepper plants. I also added one squash plant because everyone seems to do well with squash. I added a couple of herbs—rosemary and tarragon because we eat a lot of fish, and oregano because it’s very versatile. I would like to have put in some thyme, too, for the same reason, but I had to make room for marigolds.

Last year I wrote a story about a group of friends in New Smyrna Beach, Fla., who were trying to drum up interest in community gardening. One thing that stuck with me from that interview is that the rows of vegetables in their organic garden were dotted with the occasional marigold plant to repel insects.

After my experience with tomato-plant-devouring worm invasion, I was all about repelling insects. The more marigolds the better. Plus, my son’s little seedling was a marigold so it would have company. Lots of company.

I bought some organic dirt, too. It was probably more expensive and I’m not sure what made it better than plain dirt, but organic was the theme and I was sticking with it. Well, to a point. With our trunk full of organic gardening supplies, we stopped off at a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way home for a happy meal. Like I said, baby steps.

So, as you can see by the photos, so far, so good. Amazingly, I haven’t killed anything yet. I could end up being one of the state’s leading marigold producers. My son enjoys going out to check the garden with me every day, and his little marigold seedling now has two tiny buds on it. Maybe we will build that 4 x 8 bed after all.

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