It's a Garden, Not a Grave

It started like this...

The strawberry bed was gone. Even the wooden edging that framed the raised bed could not be distinguished.

But the rain had come.
It rained again.
And again.
And again.

It rained so much, the lettuce was pale and stringy like it had been grown in the dark, because it was. No sun for weeks.

So the strawberry bed must be soft, right?
Oh yes. The strawberry bed was soft. 
Soupy oatmeal, the kind my kids skip breakfast about, with way too much water, is almost...
exactly the texture of this soil. Georgia clay had turned into slip.

We dumped wood chips into every watery hole we left when we dug a clump of weeds. Cookie dough is way thinker and not as heavy as this soil. Calling it soil is being generous. Even cake batter was thinker than this stuff. When my son (who was only helping to earn airtime for his phone) tried to shake the soil off of one clump, it looked, literally, like the mud hitting the fan.

Chipping Away!

We used two big wagons full of chips. Now, instead of a mound of weeds, it looks like a freshly filled cemetery plot.

Let's plant!

That's not a grave.