Being an eejit, it came as no surprise – or at least didn’t piss me off – to learn that I had misremembered the specs on SFG-style raised beds. Not four feet by four feet by 16 to 18 inches, but four by four by SIX TO EIGHT inches.

God dammit. Not 22 cubic feet of soil, eleven. Not four eight-foot 8’x8″x.5″, two. Et fucking cetera.

Oh well. Apparently a double-capacity bed is good for stuff you expect to need more than six inches of depth, carrots, corn mebbe, who knows what else.

As I write this hundreds – possibly thousands – of crows are chattering and squawking over space in our trees. I believe I will step out into the rain to hear the chorus. Atonal it may be, and crows such a successful urban creature that I will grow to hate them in time, but at the moment I do not. I root for them each time I see them climb the skies en masse, pursuing an hallucinated or real raptor or opportunistic gull.