Twerking

I did some twerking in my backyard today. (Look it up online; the word is probably too new to be in a printed dictionary.) Now, wait a minute. Don't call for a strait jacket yet. Let me explain. Yes, my ass was up in the air most of the day and there was definitely a whole lotta shakin' goin' on, but not of the Miley variety.

Here in the north, we have two seasons: a very short, barely warm summer and a very long, mind-numbing cold winter. So, late August to early September would qualify as fall. Therefore, it is time to begin preparing my newly created miniature garden for fall bulb planting. Hence, the twerking. Raking, hoeing, tilling, spreading new topsoil, etc. It gave me tremendous satisfacation to rip out the roots of my mortal enemy – weeds.

Although allergies prevent me from having flowers in my house, I seem able to enjoy them in the great outdoors with no apparent side effects. This week's blooming of an absolutely beautiful pink rose in the corner of my yard has inspired me to dream big when it comes to flowers, so I've decided to opt for perennials instead of a few miserly annuals. Now that I've discovered my long dormant green thumb, I can hardly wait to get started. Over the next couple of weeks, I'll visit the local garden centre to ferret out the heartiest bulbs for zone 0 to 1 and plant them lovingly in the freshly tilled ground. Hubby was kind enough to install a temporary chicken wire fence around my precious plot of soil to keep the dogs from burying bones there. I've vowed to chop the tail off any hound caught digging (or planting, if you catch my drift) in my garden. 

Well, we shall see what next spring brings; hopefully, it will be worth the effort. I don't know if Miley's butt hurts as much as mine does, but I know for sure that my twerking is done, at least until the bulbs are ready to be planted. The neighbours are no doubt grateful for small mercies.