I vaguely remember poking holes in the soil a few inches apart, then grabbing the nearest toddler and appointing her to drop one or two carrot seeds in each hole. I assumed her toddler mind would understand the term “one seed,” but it appears she interpreted it to mean “one toddler fistful of seeds.”
The carrots were probably enjoying intertwining themselves around each other in social groups, but I spent a painful hour bending down to remove seven rows of them from their clumps and transplant them each into their lonely space by themselves. Carrots, like children need space and time to be alone and watch the clouds go by.
My back is killing me. I’m wishing I had allowed for more cloud viewing on the day we planted seeds.