Only not the one I have been thinking of most of my life. The plot I yearned after, that proved most often elusive, was a fictinal plot, a very Freytag triangular twist, a linear circulular thing with turns, ending at the only possible place at last. That plot still eludes me.

I speak of the garden plot. After years of being on the fence about the commitment, then on a waiting list, I am renting a community garden plot in town. It is an eight foot by twelve foot rectangle, fence almost securely, with a broken gate I remedied with bungee cord.

It took several days to weed, by working diligently with stirrup hoe and other implements.

I’ve inherited a jaunty sun ornament I affixed to the gate, and a few stakes. I pilfered some bits of thrown out lumber, to create very uneven boxes, and added bagged compost, plus community loam. I started with cosmos, sweet peas, and marigolds, and then put in eight dahlias that had arrived as two inch tall root cuttings, which I nourished into foot tall plants for months at my studio windows.

Sadly, the dahlias contracted yellow mosaic virus, and had to be pulled out and thrown away. Luckily, a friend gave me kale and cantaloupe starts, so they went in instead. A plant sale at a fairground, plus various garden centers yielded eggplant, zucchini, cucumber, borage, and more kale. I ordered four kinds of tomatoes, and planted more marigolds, basil, landcress, and nasturtiums. Fellow plotters gave me butternut squash and calendula.

My expectations are low, and I must remember to water. Hopefully, it will thicken, this plot.