Kukka by Sally Kilgore: Sweet Smell of Manure

Rowlett, TX (February 17, 2026) – Until this past week, I’d not been out much to work in the yard, other than autumn leaf raking, nor concentrated on a garden plan. I barely gave the outdoors a look after we moved in. I had a scant month to get unpacked, and some a few home projects done, before the holidays were upon us.

Since the holidays, I’ve kept busy with indoor items and allowed myself some downtime.  Winter is a good time to be quiet and with myself.

Still, by February the urge begins bubbling within. I count the days to garden season; planning, clearing out dead foliage from perennials, and filing notes in the garden Rolodex of my brain.  Some green shoots are already poking their sweet heads up through the soil.

I knew the Mildscape, and the Wildscape before that, like the back of my hand. I knew them in every scar, wrinkle, and ache of my dirt worn hands. In that angry rose thorn infection in a finger one spring.

I brought those gardens up from grass or bare ground. I knew every foot, every inch, every stone that I’d plunked in. I knew each plant, where it was first planted, where I had moved it, and where it ended up thriving. I knew what would not thrive in my plot. I knew the light. I knew the shadows. I knew the shaded areas that emerged over time from full, bright sun bringing growth to trees and shrubs.

I don’t know this place yet. Familiarity takes time. It will be a season of working before I begin to know. First step is to clear leaves and winter browned foliage. Beginning to putter. I did a little of that this past week.  Several large bags worth. There is more to go.

I had determined a few things early on about this yard. We would plant three trees along the fence. Eagleston and East Palatka Hollies. I decided I would dig out half of the circular area around the huge pecan tree and begin my garden there. I knew the spot to develop the Kitty Memorial garden was in the back corner of the yard, underneath a Japanese maple.

Last weekend, as we sat on the new patio, enjoying a mild afternoon, The B.O.B. asked what we should do for Valentine’s Day.  We always exchange cards, first thing in the morning. We’ve had the years where I received huge floral arrangements (those stopped coming when I began my own floral business!) And years when I’ve received jewelry, always a delight. In the past we would go out to the swanky or romantic restaurants – The French Room, The Riviera, Adelmos, lovely places. We have always gone before the 14th, so to enjoy a peaceful evening with no crowds.

These days, I don’t need much more jewelry. Flowers, well yes, I’d rather have a big old bunch of loose ones to arrange myself. And somehow, it feels better to enjoy a favorite restaurant anytime, just because we feel like it. It’s just not that important anymore to make a big splash for Valentine’s Day. Having said that, several years ago, we had been extravagant in other ways, and I told The Bear “nothing for Valentines Day this year.” He took that literally to mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.  There was no small, sweet remembrance for our traditional early morning card exchange in bed. I had a card for him. Someone’s feelings got hurt. Real hurt. Ugly, huffy, bitchy hurt.  We had planned a shopping trip for men’s clothing that day and after, ended up near a kitchen shop, going in to look. I went home with a couple of additions to my Le Creuset collection. He’d paid his way out of the silent treatment. And then I wasn’t mad anymore.  Absolutely an I Love Lucy type situation!

This year I hadn’t thought about Valentines Day. When queried what we should do, on that springlike afternoon, my answer came instantly. Trees. We should go to the nursery and buy each other three new trees for Valentine’s Day.  My beloved agreed. And so, we did.

We have reached that stage of old love. The love is felt deeply. The comfort level is warm and easy.  We love our outdoor spaces and we cherish our trees. What could be a more appropriate gift in this new home?

The nursery called to see if they could plant the trees on the thirteenth. Could it be more perfect? We awoke on Valentine’s Day to see the green of three new trees. A wonderful sight! I think girls who are blissful with trees and manure for Valentines Day are not quite the norm; but we exist and we are delightful, if a bit grubby.

I had hired a landscaper to come in and clear the sod from the entire circle around the pecan, having already changed my mind from the original idea of clearing half, complete the border with boulders, and add some rich soil.

The garden bed being prepared brings a big difference as well. The crew worked Thursday and Friday on that huge task, and a few other projects. The soil is dark and full of composted manure. I wonder if they have ever seen a woman so delighted about a big patch of smelly earth. It looks hopeful – something wonderful will happen here. On Friday I sat at the dining table, with light streaming in from the large arched window, a squirrel hanging from the window frame – peering in and began sketching out a plan. I consulted the photos of The Mildscape, that last garden that was so lovely.

Can I make it happen?

Hold my beer.

By contributing writer Sally Kilgore. Find more of her “Kukka” columns at BlueRibbonNews.com. Sally is married to her long-time flame, Judge Chris Kilgore. Sally’s work is published in The Dallas Morning News, Blue Ribbon News, Persimmon Tree, and Orchards Poetry. Sally writes a blog on her website, SallyAKilgore.com  Contact her by email via her website. Provided photo.

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