My dear Gramma Dugan used to pronounce it ve-ge-ta-ble. “Eat your ve-ge-ta-bles.” Gramma, this one’s for you.

Jen was geeking out yesterday by sending me text messages on the Batphone: “DAMN BUNNies[sic].”

I spent the better part of Saturday digging out the shade bed (that bed which lies along the driveway and is hidden by three very emaciated bushes) and laying in a frame of 2×12″s to contain fresh dirt. Phase One was actually lugging the material home. Phase Two involved digging the existing plants out of hard-packed clay. (Think of the chain gang scenes in Cool Hand Luke.) Phase Three was constructing and installing the frame. That was definitely enough for one day, and a hearty round of applause must go out to our neighbors M. and S. for upping our suggestion of walking to get ice cream to a full-blown barbecue with beer at their place.

Sunday, Jen ignored all warnings from her Russian physical therapist and planted a paycheck’s worth of pretty shade plants into the rich soil we added and watered the whole thing while I toiled at the computer all afternoon long. It looked great Monday morning, when her back felt like the whole Russian army had marched across her shoulderblades.

Apparently, though, this fluffy patron and her child think we have opened up a salad bar for their convenience. Now, I like bunnies. They’re cute, and they eat lettuce and hang out in the glass cage at the pet store and poop little round pellets, like styrofoam peanuts. But when they start chowing down on my woman’s plants like it’s bluehair hour at the smorgasboard, I have some homicidal (bunnycidal) thoughts. We’re going to have to look into some anti-bunny measures (punji pits? guard dogs? mines?) so as to keep our garden green.

Two years ago, when we did the walkthrough on the house, we oohhed and aahhed over the obvious stuff, like the greenhouse and the fireplace, but one of the things that caught Jen’s eye was the garden outside the kitchen window. When we first visited, there was a birdbath, a feeder, and a garden ringed by brown modular ABS plastic on the west lawn. (I say “west lawn” only to provide a sense of direction. It sounds grand to say that in a sentence: “We’ll have tea on the West Lawn.” In actuality, it’s a narrow strip of grass, bounded by a weedy, overgrown privet hedge.) When we returned for the walkthrough on the day of the signing, we noticed that everything had disappeared from the yard save the lovely brown garden edging and a patch of dry, dusty soil covered in squirrel holes.

Steadily, over the last two years, Jen’s been making the yard look better in between life events. This spring she hatched a plan to rehab the entire flowerbed. Last night we set the wheels in motion by removing the platic edging and replacing it with pressure-treated 2×8’s (which will have to do until we can mix cement and build the rock wall.) Next, we dumped six cubic yards of garden soil and tilled the whole pile as the sun was setting. Then, we measured and drove two lengths of PVC piping into the middle of the bed, and set the headboard of a $15 antique bedframe into the pipes. (My wife is so damned smart.) Finally, by the light of the moon, we replaced the plants in their complicated arrangement so that she could put them in the ground this morning.

Note the variety of plants in the above picture. Around the bedframe are sedum and other hearty perennials. Along the edge in front are a variety of herbs and smaller flowering perennials. In back, Jen planted some morning glory, a ton of gladiola bulbs, and other tall flowers.

Meanwhile, the Peapod delivery guy was circling our street trying to find the house, and finally pulled in the driveway after I flagged him down. I’d have to say that the experience of spending $80 at the store and returning home with three small bags of food is no different than having somebody deliver it to the front door, but the convenience of having the staples (milk, bread, tonic water, creamer, etc) is pretty cool. If we can offset the high price of Peapod by shopping at the Asian market for produce, we’ll be coming out ahead in my book.

Jen was able to get all the plants in the ground this morning (I don’t think she even finished her coffee, she was out the back door so fast) as well as a pile of bulbs that we bought this spring. (We have a ridiculous amount of bulbs, actually—some are still good and left over from my old house, where I had dreams of planting gladiolas in the back yard.) Before I left, I asked Jen to meet me for lunch today so that we could hit a garden center up here by work. We’ve been living with the selections at Lowe’s and Home Depot only because of proximity and budget, and there’s a hideously overpriced garden center in the ‘Ville that Jen bought from out of necessity. I’ve been Valley View once or twice but never took the time to really explore, so it was a new experience for us both. Think of the garden center at your local Home Depot and expand it by about 400%. Add a whole section for live fish (featuring koi the size of a small child), wholesale stone, and a live herb section larger than a drugstore, and you have this place. We loaded up two boxes full of plants and got out of there before we did any serious damage, but still wound up dropping $50. I think we both agreed to regroup and think out a strategy for the future, bceause the possibilities have just been expanded tenfold, and we still need to make the mortgage payment.