Because You're Mine, I Draw the Line

How big is your garden? I am often asked that question and I find it odd. It is a perfectly normal question, I guess I just don't know how to answer it. Who knows?

I live in Philadelphia, and have a tiny yard. I call it my garden, or my farm if I'm feeling wacky. It is a concrete pad, so I garden (or farm) in a variety of containers, like pots, plastic and clay, tires, a claw-footed tub, a couple of twelve-quart buckets, a couple of metal tubs, Scoops Away buckets, homemade flower boxes, a couple of store-bought flower boxes, a couple of store-bought flower boxes I found on the curb on trash day and a couple of sizable wooden beds I made and a big plastic planter-that looks like fake terra cotta- that David from the George B. gave to us. I guess you'd call me a container gardener, a container farmer, sometimes a woe farmer. I lament.

I'd love to have a toilet in the garden to go with the tub. It would be so fun to grow in-two compartments-business in the front, party in the back. Sarah told me "No, I draw the line at toilets baby." I still throw my worn out boxers in the compost though.

Here is a schematic of the garden. Ignore the shapes, those are from last year when I was suffering from a need to appear to have a plan. The dimensions are still the same though, I checked-27 times.