My hands smell like worms

I've just come back from doing some gardening. My mom used to do it all the time, and since she's not around to do it this year, the kids (Garrit, Chelsea, Matt and I) decided to continue on with it in remembrance of her.  Man, how she did it every year I'll never know.

I remember I used to help her plant vegetables when I was younger. Sometimes I would occasionally water, and then of course harvest. When I did it this year I didn't know what I was doing.  I'm pretty sure I bought 3 bags of fertilizer when in fact I only needed one bag (I thought the other 2 were special kinds of soil). It's a garden gong show, but at least it's a pretty one. I can't say all the plants are going to survive (God rest their souls in advance), but I'm pretty sure the ones I bought post seed will turn out. The ones I planted myself from seed...well...I can't promise that I won't have to go to the grocery store to buy some carrots. Good news though, the potato plant has sprouted! Scalloped Potats anyone?

From this experience I've also realized my strange emotional attachment to insects/buggies. Seriously, it's bizarre.

I was trying to make a new area in the grass to plant some corn (can't promise anything) so I started digging up the grass, and I found that I kept cutting worms in half. What a sight, what a war. I felt pretty awful. So I threw some dirt over the dead bodies and decided to not continue. Is that even appropriate I call them "dead bodies"? Probs not, but it's my blog.

I remember in elementary school I used to have a "Save the Worms" club, and every time it rained, us kids would run out onto the playground during recess and pick up all the stray and homeless worms and put them underneath a classroom portable. Then we would feed them compost that we had collected over the week. Needless to say, the club doesn't exist anymore.

Here's some other bugs I've taking a liking to over the years:

Spiders: I've had conversations with them where I tell them there is much better living space in a different room, and their current home is very inconvenient for the rest of us.

Flies: In my younger years (last week, but seriously), I used to call the flies in my house "Fred". I would help guide Fred(s) through the rooms until he was able to reach the great out doors. There have been many Freds. 

I think I'm a little bit too compassionate...is that even possible?