The emotional roller coaster of urban gardening

This will be me, tomorrow, because IT IS ON

I went out, this morning, to water the acreage, and discovered that a fox had tried to escape the enclosure through the back fence. It failed, but not before it kicked an ass-ton of dirt all over our burgeoning carrots, the turnips, the potatoes (which have both flowered, now, but in different colours, which is an exciting development in this time of trial), the wall, the gravel, and half-way to Clapham, the little fucker (TLF).

Considering putting in an abatis* along the back

And then, as if to add insult to injury, as I was trying to push as much dirt back into the hole as I could, TLF had the absolute cheek to poke its nose under the fence to see what was going on.

At the other end of both the garden and the emotional spectrum, we have these volunteers cheerfully blooming outside our kitchen door:

I am more than OK with this sort of thing through the fence

*I feel that it's important to study and understand medieval siege warfare, because you never know when that sort of thing might come in handy. A moat, in this scenario, would require too much paperwork, but a sharpened log spike can easily be described as "landscaping." Next up: murder holes to deter front-porch package thieves.