The view from the nursery

It was only after I had nearly decapitated (and nearly was close enough) the Sweet 100 tomato baby that was destined for the Topsy-Turvy (what's one more year of dismal 'mater production?) and torn in half the basil plant as I was releasing it from the bondage of its 4-inch growth pot, that I realized what all the noise had been the last two afternoons as I journeyed home from the garden nurseries.

It was my plants, those poor creatures captured in the back of the vehicle, crying. Sobbing, really. Knowing that their fate was sealed, that at least one of them wouldn't be living up to its full potential. And, in my garden, maybe very few.

As it is, the remainder, those that are currently ensconced in new homes or hanging from new hooks (whew! they're saying, she didn't touch us!), are probably thinking that if one or two of them had to give their life, it was just as well it was the vegetables.

I've got news for them. I'm going after more...