criminal acts

My husband worked hard this weekend.

He enlarged Kiddo's flower bed, effectively doubling it in size.

Then he helped Kiddo transplant some of his seedlings into their new accommodations.

And after that, he tackled the brush-that-we-planned-to-burn-but-can-no-longer-burn pile.

The township regulations on burning yard waste changed last year.  Unfortunately for us, they changed before we had a chance to burn the rather large pile of branches, sticks and yard waste that we've managed to accumulate over the past couple of years.  So now Hubby is attacking it with a small chipper/shredder.  The downside is that it is taking a whole lot longer than burning it would.  The upside is that we're getting lots of free mulch out of the deal.  Hopefully we're he is able to make a good dent in it before too long - that's where I'm hoping to plant some of our larger vine plants (pumpkins, gourds, squash, and maybe some watermelon).

And what did I do while he was getting so much accomplished?

Well, I covered our garden beds with "tents" of bird netting (take THAT you barn cats).

I admired our iris(es).  (What is the plural of "iris" anyway?  "Iris?"  "Irises?").

I untangled Kiddo from the extra bird netting he had draped all over his swing set.

And I stood back and watched him experiment with hoses, sprinkler heads and a cardboard tube [insert wet clothing, scotch tape and giggles here].

I also went to my parents' house while they were away and stole some rhubarb (since mine is currently wilty and recovering from transplant shock).  But they know about that.

What they don't know (Mom and Dad, you should stop reading now...) is that I also stole some seedlings.

I thought I was stealing three.  But when I got home I discovered that I actually had seven.  My dad has this perennial geranium/cranesbill plant that I LOVE.  It blooms for weeks and has uniquely shaped little flowers in a pretty shade of pinky-purple.  I was admiring it while I was there to get the rhubarb, and as I was looking at it, I noticed a couple of little baby geraniums under one edge.  So I grabbed a trowel out of the garage and whisked them away to my own flower beds.  I justified my actions by convincing myself that one of the following things would be true:
     1.  My dad would have just hoed them up, since they were nearly swallowed up by the other plants in the
          bed, or
     2.  He wants to keep them, but is allowing me to babysit them and give them room to grow until he finds
          a place for them, or
     3.  He really doesn't care one way or the other and is happy to share his gardeny goodness.

But if you don't hear from me for the next week or two, it's probably because I've been grounded.