Boo Hoo, Or, I'm a Big, Fat, Whiney Baby

I had quite a few garden woes this year and didn't bury the last seeds in the ground until nearly a month later than I should have. Rain, rocks, more rain, more rocks, and this.

A brand-new tiller I borrowed from my parents broke in half. That's what you get when a tiller's constructed with inferior cast iron parts in place of steel, but at least it endured for 9 1/2 rows. That's 9 and 1/2 more rows than I'd ever been able to till in my gardening life.

My dad returned it for a full refund, and I was pitiful enough (seriously pitiful, as in sitting-in-the-dirt-wishing-I-could-cry-pitiful) that my Uncle David generously let us borrow his old and as sturdy as the hills tiller to complete the second half of the garden.  It worked beautifully, and even with the ridiculous amount of rock-hauling, I can't believe how much easier it was than breaking up every row of rocks with a shovel like usual.   What a blessing.  I'm eager for dump truck loads of compost hay, aged sawdust, or, in the best of all worlds, aged manure (hey, I can dream) to find their way to our garden so we can make the "need" for a tiller obsolete by building a thick layer of topsoil, but I'm fairly sure I'll have to exercise ingenuity in order for that to happen.  Anybody have some spare cleverness-- or, failing that, a dump truck-- just laying around collecting dust?  I’m running short on both.

Those of you who rely on gardens for summer feasting and, more importantly, winter sustenance share my hopes.   I'd love to harvest more than dirt and rocks from this space and hope for an unnaturally late frost this year.  When I took this picture, things looked less than promising, but check back in 2 months, and, Lord willing, I'll stuff your car full of zucchini.