I thought I should give an update on my seedlings. It is a sad story to tell, of twenty-four tomato starts, twelve lettuce (two varieties), six basil and six parsley. These all began life in egg cartons and seemed to sprout well. Their short life even began with a trip to Santa Cruz where my mother tended to them for a week while we were away. I did not know they would have such a needy start to life.
Of the forty-eight, only six have survived the last week in the garden and, haphazard me, cannot even tell you which ones they are. The first bunch were planted orderly and carefully and by the time I got to these, I just tucked them in tenderly, wherever there was room. Given the length of the summer that we are probably now looking at it, I would say that the likelihood of any of these reaching adulthood is quite minimal. My goal has changed from harvest to identification.
Once we knew that there was no chance the tomato plants would bear their fruit, we bought an Early Girl and one other, already about one foot tall and one basil plant, about six inches. These, we wrapped in blankets as the temperature dropped. Nighttime was not the problem however, and as of yesterday morning, what leaves the bunnies had not eaten, the squirrels finished off and, left uncovered over night, the remaining stems turned a depressing brown.
I wish the story ended here, but I will go on. Our hanging plants were doing lovely with little red, white and purple flowers, the purple, especially, were abundant. During one of the few days of sunshine we have had over the past couple of weeks, I set them out. I looked at them about two hours later and they seemed to me, as much as is possible in the plant world, to look quite happy and I decided to leave them out for another hour. The next time I checked, every red bloom was gone, all but one of the purple and most of the white. I was still feeling pretty good about the larkspur in one of our wine barrels but as of a couple of days ago, those buds and blooms are gone too.
I have been known to roll my eyes when I go to the local nursery and hear people complain to the staff of the animals that they have in their gardens. I silently mouth, "Then move to the city." Even now, as I better understand the woes that little creatures can cause, I still have not changed my mind; that they are part of the joy of the country and I will find ways to adapt. The investment has been minimal and the lessons learned seem to grow each day, so it is really no loss, more of a gain in perspective, I think. And, the one peony, two columbine, three geranium and strawberries we planted seem to be surviving okay. (Although I am not convinced that our now chubby bunnies so full from everything else, have just not gotten to them.) Sage, chives and mint are coming up from last year, the flowering trees and bushes already established in the garden give me cheer each day and the bounty of the forest and valley around us is amazing.
Determined to have good fresh produce, we have shifted from one way to another for this year and our first delivery of boxed local produce from Mountain Bounty Farms is due to arrive on Thursday. We are sharing it with a friend and will hopefully be able to enjoy many fresh vegetables, probably at less of a cost and definitely with less effort. And, as for annuals, I was invited to go to Sierraville's garden club, a lively group, with a president whose name is Maisy. They meet at the school and sit in folding chairs from the 1940's and have a really good sale each year on plants as a fundraiser for the volunteer fire department. Our new plants are in the garage waiting for a sunny day, an optimistic long term weather forecast and our desire to proceed again.
Of the forty-eight, only six have survived the last week in the garden and, haphazard me, cannot even tell you which ones they are. The first bunch were planted orderly and carefully and by the time I got to these, I just tucked them in tenderly, wherever there was room. Given the length of the summer that we are probably now looking at it, I would say that the likelihood of any of these reaching adulthood is quite minimal. My goal has changed from harvest to identification.
Once we knew that there was no chance the tomato plants would bear their fruit, we bought an Early Girl and one other, already about one foot tall and one basil plant, about six inches. These, we wrapped in blankets as the temperature dropped. Nighttime was not the problem however, and as of yesterday morning, what leaves the bunnies had not eaten, the squirrels finished off and, left uncovered over night, the remaining stems turned a depressing brown.
I wish the story ended here, but I will go on. Our hanging plants were doing lovely with little red, white and purple flowers, the purple, especially, were abundant. During one of the few days of sunshine we have had over the past couple of weeks, I set them out. I looked at them about two hours later and they seemed to me, as much as is possible in the plant world, to look quite happy and I decided to leave them out for another hour. The next time I checked, every red bloom was gone, all but one of the purple and most of the white. I was still feeling pretty good about the larkspur in one of our wine barrels but as of a couple of days ago, those buds and blooms are gone too.
Determined to have good fresh produce, we have shifted from one way to another for this year and our first delivery of boxed local produce from Mountain Bounty Farms is due to arrive on Thursday. We are sharing it with a friend and will hopefully be able to enjoy many fresh vegetables, probably at less of a cost and definitely with less effort. And, as for annuals, I was invited to go to Sierraville's garden club, a lively group, with a president whose name is Maisy. They meet at the school and sit in folding chairs from the 1940's and have a really good sale each year on plants as a fundraiser for the volunteer fire department. Our new plants are in the garage waiting for a sunny day, an optimistic long term weather forecast and our desire to proceed again.
City folk will never understand, but everything you describe is so, so true. When at first you don't succeed . . .
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