Confessions of a Lazy Gardener

In early fall, when the weeds grown taller than the tomatoes, I fire up the lawnmower. The blades shred the weeds, the plants, the mulch, until I have a four-inch high patch of stubble. I let the hens into the garden, throw in some horse manure for good measure. By spring, the garden plot is ready for another season of optimism.