Poo on you

I spent some time sweating my arse off and wanting to just die in the garden during the week.  A little bit of weeding, a little bit of mulching, a lot of watering and a little bit of flinging poo.

Yes, I'm immature.  So sue me.

But my plants don't care what I call the black gold.  Manure.  Compost.  Dung.  Muck.  Excrement.

The "I Wonder What These Are" squash plants that survived the deluge last month are doing ok, but looked like they could use a little pick-me-up.  So I got out the shovel and a bucket and proceeded to amend the rocks and sticks earth they were popping out from with some of the old mule manure and gave them a good watering.

Then the next day, I noticed that some of the smaller plants were basically dead:

Yup.  Killed 'em.

The older plants are just fine.  I'm not sure if the manure wasn't composted enough or if the two days of 90+ degree days did the smaller ones in, or both.

I was going to add some to the sweet potato trenches, but wasn't sure if that was a good idea or not.  I still need to hill them as the slips are really starting to take off so later today I'll be forking wasted goat hay into the wheelbarrow and wheel it down to the 'taters.  I've already got major swampass going so what's another sopping wet handkerchief, right?

I heard rumors of a Summer Polar Vortex.  Is it true?  Really?!  I could go for a flurry right about now.  Maybe I'll spare my garden the cold and just blend me up a Pina Colada instead.  Although I am three days late for National Pina Colada Day.  You won't rat me out and call the F.P.A.B. P. (Fancy Pants Alcoholic Beverage Police) on me, will ya?