Midway through prepping this new garden plot, I gave serious consideration to the possibility that I may have lost my mind. This space is 48' x 108' and after two hours of wielding a behemoth rototiller, it is still not complete (please note that lovely green strip of grass that remains). I had to stop because I thought my arms might fall off. Next time I get the one that comes attached to a riding mower. And there will be a next time because there are at least two more plots to prep for next year. As for this year, I am so seriously far behind in my spring planting that the idea of getting caught up seems like an unbelievable piece of fiction in a bad novel.
So what made me question my sanity you ask? Walking behind that monstrous piece of machinery as it belched smoke while emitting an ear-splitting racket, I wondered, not for the first time, if all this is just so much fantasy on my part. Can I really earn a living on this tiny little farm? Will I be able to do all the work that needs to be done myself? And what if the answer is no? Am I burning bridges that would best be left intact? Have I, in fact, lost my mind? It's a distinct possibility.