My husband is mortified that I am (hopefully) growing tomatoes on my driveway. Mortified. My HUSBAND who is from GEORGIA and dreams of driving a PICKUP TRUCK and FISHING for a living thinks I’m a little rednecky.
Oh, the irony. If you knew him and you knew me, you’d say, “Oh, the irony.”
“Can’t we just move it to the side yard?” he asked.
“No,” I patiently replied, “I have logged the hours of sunlight received by various locations for a week, and this four-foot-square area gets maximum sunlight. Which I need if I am to grow even one tomato.”
Which I am clearly so fixated on doing I will throw my self-respect under a bus and grow a garden on my driveway.
I cleared my throat. “And I will need to put chicken wire around it to keep the rabbits out.”
He handed me a piece of grass to stick between my teeth, shook his head and walked inside.