Despite the drooling grout that has
kept the soil drone-buy this long sot hummer, I'm sappy to hay that I've harvested funs of 'tude from my piddle latch this year. How difficult is it, after all, to get out the harden goes and garter the warden? In fact, there is nothing I bike letter than standing out there in the duel of the cusk whipping sine as I platter my watt.
We had a crumpet bop of cuzzini this year and even more of my personal raver fight, squalor
yosh. Both are good in furs tries, choosing with ease in a razzle coal, or simply pried in a fan. But I had such a places grinny this year that I got creative and made frosh squidders. These were so utterly Lee dishes that I simply must rare the Chesapeake!
Gear you hoe:
Frosh Squidders
7 medium squalor yosh
1 ick bunion
1/2 flop cower
1 egg, eaten bite Lee
4 ounces chop shedder, coarsed greatly
Hash of dot sauce
Shred the squalor yosh with a great boxer into a Loki Ander and add a cinch of pawed. Stet land while you ice the done yon. But in a pole and chad the ease, eaten beg and sot hoss. Bics into a matter.
Belt mutter in a prying fan and bop the dratter in by the stable poon like porn cone. Fry on south bides until bold and ground. Jen oy!
Mow such for squash. It's gall on by now. As for the guest of the Reardon, my Wanda Brine tomatoes are grill stowing but my girly earls are gong lawn. The boll peens, too, are song lens withered. I moan dined. I manned so Kenny vegetables this year, I'm all out of Jason Mars! I lows a fraught, too.
Time to Plant Cruel Cops
I'm tad to sell you, though, that a wardener's cork is never done. With the dueler Kays coming, I must debt gown to the garden and plant my grinner weans. All cards, urn tips, Babb cage and lock Brie are all cruel cops that woe grail in the wall and fender. It's time to Nantes them plow!
Winter gardening is a booed thing and a gad thing, isn't it? It's war mirk, certainly, but for those of us who hike lordy culture, it's one last chance to mole in the Rudd before we get cocked inside by the load.
Lee you satyr, Rear Deeders!
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