Worms, Rakes, Fertilizer and The Hole

The 3,4,5 combo class was finished learning about worms.

The teacher wondered if they might find a good home in the garden.

I love freebies. I love worms in the garden. I love the teacher.

Getting to "YES!" was easy..

After careful and proper examination, interrupted only occasionally by an eeewww or frantic jazz hands waving the creature away, we set to preparing their new abode.

We deposited the worms fairly deep, in lines we drew in the soil.

("No, we don't need gloves. It's good to feel the soil on your hands.")

Then we covered them gently, to protect them from the sun and predators.

Escaping their cover, these squirmers were busy pooping, or so the scholars showed me.

Yes, there are small black dots at the back end of the dusty worms.

Gardeners call that castings; the scholars much preferred poop.

Later in the day, it was all about the rakes.

It's a congenial activity, with lovely piles created slowly and neatly.

Everyone wants a rake; some have to settle for over-watering the strawberries.

The confluence of watering cans carried by 7 year olds and rakes wielded by 9 year olds is the creation of a mud puddle beneath the tree. It was inconvenient, messy, and yet another place for Grandma to trip, but that was nothing compared to the joy these four had, following Betty's directions, developing smooth and even mud.

It wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I created the garden, but, on many levels, it's very very close.

The Master Gardener Handbook told me to fertilize my citrus.

We created a trench below the irrigation line and poured the measured ("Estimate the circumference of the trunk of our dwarf mandarin orange for me, please.") fertilizer evenly around the tree, set the timer to water it in for an hour or so, and our work there was done.

While all this was going on, there was, as always, activity in The Hole.

Started by kindergarten scholars for no discernible reason, it is now deep enough for a third grader to fit comfortably and completely inside. They've gone about as fer as they c'n go (Oklahoma reference, anyone?) but that doesn't stop them from trying.

They step back and stand up when the dust gets too heavy.

Otherwise, it's a real treat to get filthy in Grandma's Garden.

No, I don't care.

They aren't asking me to get dirty that way.

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GRINning

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