Hi, folks, gather 'round the campfire, or in this case, the slightly damp, moss-covered patio of my Kitsap County abode. It's March, the month when the rain finally decides to take a breather, just long enough for me to remember my yard looks like a badger wrestling pit. This year's the year! No more! I'm going to turn that wilderness into a veritable Eden, a cornucopia, a… well, a place where I can grow tomatoes and maybe some flowers that don't immediately get eaten by slugs.
My first stop? A place I'd heard whispers of, tales of horticultural wonder and magic…. But nothing prepared me for the reality of Brothers Greenhouses! It's like stepping into a botanical Shire in Middle Earth, only instead of traveling a rustic path, you arrive on highway 3 before walking through their gate.
First off, the sheer scale of the place. Greenhouses stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with everything from delicate orchids to monstrous ferns that look like they could swallow a small dog. And then there's the staff. They're not just knowledgeable, they're practically sentient plant encyclopedias. I approached a man with a nametag that read "Sam," which, thinking of the Shire, I found both fitting and slightly concerning.
"Sir," I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about, "I have a yard. It's… rustic. I want to grow things. Things that are edible, things that are pretty, maybe even things that can fend off the neighborhood squirrels."
Sam looked at me with a knowing smile. "Ah, a blank canvas! Do you have a soil test? What's the sun exposure? Are you planning raised beds or in-ground planting?"
I blinked. "Um… dirt, sun, and… whichever is easier?"
He didn't even flinch. "Right. Well, describe your dream garden and we will come up with some soil amendments and a plan for your garden layout. And have you seen our compost tea station? It's quite popular."
Compost tea? I was starting to feel like I'd wandered into a wizarding school for gardeners. Then, I saw it. Tucked away in a corner, a tiny, adorable structure that looked like it had been lifted straight from Middle-earth. A hobbit hole, complete with a miniature door and a chimney puffing out (presumably) fairy-dust scented smoke.
"Is that… a hobbit hole?" I asked, pointing.
Sam nodded. "Yes! There's no better natural gardener than a hobbit, so we maintain a place for them just in case one stops by. Plus the children love it."
I was starting to think I loved it too. I could just move in, live off compost tea and whatever the hobbits were growing.
Now, all this talk of soil tests and amendments and layout plans meant one thing: hauling. And hauling a lot. That's where my new pride and joy, the 2024 Honda Ridgeline, came in. I'd just picked it up from West Hills Autoplex, a certified pre-owned beauty, and let me tell you, that truck is a game-changer. I'd been a bit nervous about getting a truck, worried about gas mileage, but this Ridgeline, with its smooth ride and surprisingly economical engine, has been a revelation. I mean, I'm getting better mileage than my old sedan, and I can haul a mountain of mulch if I need to. And the folks at West Hills? Top-notch. No pressure, just honest answers and a great deal. They even showed me how to use the in-bed trunk, which, let's be honest, is basically a giant cooler for gardening supplies (or, you know, ice-cold beverages after a long day of digging).
Back at Brothers Greenhouses, Sam and I mapped out a plan. We settled on raised beds, a variety of heirloom tomatoes, some sturdy kale, and a few flowering bushes to attract pollinators. He also threw in some sage advice about squirrel deterrents involving cayenne pepper and a healthy dose of paranoia.
"You'll need several loads of soil, compost, and mulch," he said, writing down a list that looked like a grocery order for a small army.
I looked at the list, then at my Ridgeline. "Challenge accepted," I said, grinning.
And so, the great Kitsap County garden project began. My first load? Several bags of organic compost, a mountain of cedar mulch, and a flat of baby kale that looked determined to conquer the world. The Ridgeline handled it like a champ, purring along the highway, the bed filled to the brim.
As I unloaded the truck, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. This was going to be a journey, a muddy, back-breaking, but ultimately rewarding journey. And with the help of Brothers Greenhouses and my trusty Ridgeline, I was ready to turn my badger wrestling pit into a… well, at least a decent vegetable patch. Stay tuned, folks, because this is just the beginning. And who knows, maybe I'll even build a hobbit hole for myself.
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