Share 'A ton of worms living up and down...mounds, moats and plungers.'
Oh I was going to tell you about my worms.Squirmy little buggers always under foot. No matter where I dig in my fingers there they are. Poor souls. Wriggling in the dirt, heading off...well, wherever worms go.
Fat too. The sort of worm that makes a man proud of his labours. I can see it now: the epitaph. 'He grew good worms.'
'How do I do it?' you ask...Let me explain.
First up you build a sort…
You can share this blog post in two ways…
Share this link:
Send it with your computer's email program: Email this