So, you may remember that our garden last year flopped. Or is that only us, since it was scarring to put in so much work for so little yield? But I completely blame the neighbors and their too-frequent sprinkling in shady spots and the clay-rich soil. And the bugs that ate sweet Helen the Honeydew. And the fact that we waited until July to plant most things.
But we shan’t dwell on the past, for it’s a whole new season out there, and since we just signed another year-long lease, we felt OK about spending some money to increase our chances this year.
Enter…the garden plot.
When John’s parents were in town last weekend, and since his dad is a total garden guru, they teamed up to make a raised garden bed. We picked the spot in the yard that gets the most sun (yet is also dangerously close to the neighbor’s “crop” of dandelions). The boys made quick work of the sod, even unearthing an old tree stump in the process. Also notice, if you will, the darker green grass that we planted earlier this spring — coming up nicely!
“Measure twice, cut once, boys,” my daddy would have said.
A few screws and two-by-sixes later, the frame was constructed and in the ground. I also feel obligated to point out that it was I who solved the mystery of the Drill that Wouldn’t Drill — it was in reverse mode. See? My daddy taught me LOTS of things.
Last week, we planted. A fruitful trip to the nursery supplied us with three tomato starters and cucumber, lettuce, spinach, and beet seeds.
The Garden Guru also gave us some tips on caring for the young sprouts. We covered the planted seeds with a layer of this thin white fleecy stuff, which lets light and water through but keeps bugs, weed seeds, and — hopefully — the neighbor’s chickens, out. Two of the tomatoes got put in their own little plastic greenhouse thingies, which are filled with water and collapse around the plant. So luxurious!
A week later, the seeds are sprouting and the tomatoes are almost too squished in their little homes. The third tomato got planted in a garbage can, of all things. Because why buy a pot when you have a dozen little bathroom-sized trash cans around? Seemed totally normal to us. Anyway, we named that one Oscar, obviously. He’s also doing well and travels back and forth between our sun room and outside when it’s warm. Still no names for the other stuff; I don’t know their personalities well enough yet.
Hooray for home-grown goodness!