Rainy Sunday
I always go garden shopping in the worst weather. Several weeks ago when Stephanie was visiting, we packed up the wee babe and took off in the 4" of slush and snow to buy planting trays and peat pots at a local greenhouse. Today it is wet, wet, wet and kind of cold, so when husband Stu and I got tired of working last week's crossword and watching old episodes of "Scrubs," we went out to the greenhouse to buy onion bulbs and peat moss. We also got more peat pots, not because I ran out the first time, but because I accidentally dashed an entire tray of beautiful basil and sweet pepper seedlings to the floor with one unfortunate elbow jerk last week, so I need to re-plant. I should have knocked over the lettuce seedlings instead because recently they all died a limp, soggy death. I think they were over-watered.
Stu and I frequently fantasize about buying a little plot of land and trying to subsist. In our version of paradise we have a little house off the grid, a few chickens giving us our daily fresh eggs, perhaps even a goat, heck, let's throw in a pair of alpacas while we're at it, and a bountiful garden full of lush produce. Of course, we're aware that this dream of ours is at best a woefully romanticized idea of homesteading and at worst, La-La Land.
Gardening in the middle of the summer here is always a reality check. July in Madison is when, for the home gardener without a fancy schmancy greenhouse, it's a little too early for tomatoes but a little too late for the salad greens which have gone all bitter in the heat. The weeds have taken over, you have to water every day, and your god-awful putrid stink spray has failed to fend off hungry rabbits and instead just makes you smell like garlic and rotten eggs after hopefully but futilely spraying it on your bush beans. Gardening for pleasure and the occasional homegrown salad is high maintenance enough. Gardening for actual sustenance may be more than I could handle.
In early spring, though, this knowledge doesn't stop me from getting all ambitious every year, expanding my little yard garden, buying more seeds than I actually have room to plant, and thinking that this season I'll get a little closer to that goal.
I love to play in the dirt.
Stu and I frequently fantasize about buying a little plot of land and trying to subsist. In our version of paradise we have a little house off the grid, a few chickens giving us our daily fresh eggs, perhaps even a goat, heck, let's throw in a pair of alpacas while we're at it, and a bountiful garden full of lush produce. Of course, we're aware that this dream of ours is at best a woefully romanticized idea of homesteading and at worst, La-La Land.
Gardening in the middle of the summer here is always a reality check. July in Madison is when, for the home gardener without a fancy schmancy greenhouse, it's a little too early for tomatoes but a little too late for the salad greens which have gone all bitter in the heat. The weeds have taken over, you have to water every day, and your god-awful putrid stink spray has failed to fend off hungry rabbits and instead just makes you smell like garlic and rotten eggs after hopefully but futilely spraying it on your bush beans. Gardening for pleasure and the occasional homegrown salad is high maintenance enough. Gardening for actual sustenance may be more than I could handle.
In early spring, though, this knowledge doesn't stop me from getting all ambitious every year, expanding my little yard garden, buying more seeds than I actually have room to plant, and thinking that this season I'll get a little closer to that goal.
I love to play in the dirt.
Comments
Hopefully your plants will survive all the hungry bunnies and a curious infant.