You might think to call me a beach baby since I spent almost two weeks near several beaches, but the isn't to say I wasn't thinking of my garden back home while my toes were in the sand.
Even while Tommy and I strolled down the beach I couldn't help coveting all the sea weed which so often gets washed up on shore. Man, would I love that stuff in my compost pile!
Tommy saw me taking this photo of the seaweed and laughed at me.
"That's not the best picture," he said, as if I didn't know that.
I told him my wish for collecting it all for my garden and he said he'd ask one of the workers for a rake. Knowing Tommy, he actually would collect it all for me, but then what?
"Oh, sure, I'll fill up my suitcase with seaweed. That won't seem too strange to the folks at the airport," I replied.
They'd have us up on drug smuggling charges quicker than Farm girl can tell Uncle Mac to keep his dibble to himself! I mean to say, it is a weed, after all, and I'm certain someone is stupid enough-- at any airport there must be hundreds!-- who would think it's Marijuana and would assume I'd either sell it or smoke it.
Yes, this beach baby has some pretty odd things going on in my head while I'm supposed to be relaxing. Guess I'll never learn to leave the garden behind.