Locker-room talk gets down and dirty. I shrug it off _ the shoulder stretches, the backstroke technique, the chlorine-cleansing shampoo. But recently, when the banter turned to square-foot gardening, I dropped my comb. I begged for details.
The athletes smirked. How had I never heard of square-foot? Hot-cheeked, I grabbed my swim bag and, in privacy, Googled the technique. I ordered a book with photos. I even tried it.
It's not that tricky: Build (or buy) a box, spread in lightweight soil, mark off tiny plots, drop in seeds. It's easier than hacking through the standard sprawl of clay and weeds. It's fun, coaxing along radishes and cucumbers and greens. And, though the bed is shallow, the process is deep.
After imposing a grid on the garden, I started cutting down other tasks _ and found them simpler to manage. I might bring up that juicy tidbit, next time the shower room turns steamy.
