Today Sophia and I planted the tiniest garden ever. If we get either a single zucchini or cucumber out of the deal, I'll be satisfied. Sophia has inherited her mother's tendency to dream big, however: "We will not have to buy any cucumbers from the store! EVER AGAIN!" she told me, thrilled.
That's right, kiddo. Go ahead and count those chickens.
Unlike my own mother, who once replaced a demised hamster at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve ("Mama, why did his eyes and fur change color?"), I refuse to be up on the parking garage roof taping store-bought cucumbers to a bindweed vine.
At any rate she got a kick out of being allowed to play in (composted, odorless) "COW POOPOO! HEEHEEHEEHEE!" Daphne slept in the sun on an ancient Pac-Man bedsheet, oblivious to the mallard walking six inches from her head. Next project: build a duck shelter for the two breeding pairs who have set up housekeeping in the "pond" on our garage roof. Last year there were five ducklings...then four...then one...then none. And there was one suspiciously healthy-looking hawk. I think if they have a little bit of visual sheltered space, they'll have a better shot. The roof garden is a weird little oasis in the city, but it's totally lacking in shade or shelter, and those ducklings are like candy in a dish on the secretary's desk.