It's that time of year again.

The ground is broken, disced and hilled. The drip irrigation is laid, the slips are planted and the seeds are sprouting. The tomatoes are caged and the chicken wire is up complete with a web of string to confuse the crows. Best part is, the Dude did most of the work this time. Ever since we started planting a garden 5 years ago, it's mostly fallen on me. It was my endeavor and my Dad helped me a lot. But it started out relatively small and every year it grew. It grew to the point that I couldn't handle it by myself. Last year, while I was recovering from surgery, the grass finally took over because it was simply too much for me. It sucks to wield a hoe in 100 degree heat and when it hasn't rained in 3 weeks. This is some hard dirt to work, especially when the giant mud puddle down the road is calling your name. I love growing my own stuff, of course, just not weeds. If you refer to a post from back last summer, you'll see exactly what I mean. This year, we really hope our corn will be ready for the Bailey Boil. The last couple of years, Uncle Washtub was our corn connection and thankfully, he usually has an abundance. However, we really are working toward self-reliance (although that's probably silly since we always have several folks who bring lots of goodies). So in a way, the garden kicks off preparations for our big ol' feast o' seafood. Always a whole lot of fun with 100 or so of our favorite folks, complete with cornholio (You hear that? I hear a buttwhipping in the making for a certain CPA I know ;)