This is the last time I will ever say this on this blog: Please pardon my absence. Not because it won’t happen again, but because honestly, it feels pathetic to say such a thing when A) it keeps happening, B) my blog is probably not something you’ve been checking 10 times a day, frantically pressing refresh on, waiting for my inspiring content about chickens or kale, and C) it’s just life, and life happens. However, in the spirit of friendship, please pardon me for not writing. I’ll try not to let it happen again, but no guarantees. See point C.
In my next post, I will show you some photos of my garden, which to my neophyte (and hungry) eyes looks spectacular. The garlic stalks rise above the weeds in a defiant crowd, the kale is springy, and the tomato plants are not yet dead.
I still do not know anything at all about gardening, save for “oh, water helps avoid tragic death” and “Fish emulsion is like lemon ginger tea: it might not be the exact perfect cure, but it won’t hurt, and it’ll probably make your plant feel better.” We started approximately 120 tomato seeds, and five survived to germination. Zero had enough strength to make it into the ground, as I knew the word up-potting but not the actions surrounding it. Kale, carrots and parsnips are the only vegetables we started from seed. In the paraphrased words of Erica Strauss, if you want to feel like a badass gardener, try growing kale in the Pacific Northwest.
Problems get easier when you can throw money at them. While I know it is doable to start seed to create a garden in the ground in clay soil, it’s much easier when you can afford to buy soil (as we did), build raised garden beds (as Anthony did), or cover your tomatoes with a custom hoop house (as Anthony did). (As a caveat, life in general is easier when you have a remarkably wonderful partner to get you through it.) It’s also easier when you have time to devote to your plants, which we do, even though it often feels as though life with an infant goes in some bizarre combination of warp speed and snail. We purchased seedlings from a local farm, soil from Portland, fish emulsion from a Marijuana growing supply store, juniper from a dude named Mark, and the rest from Amazon or Home Depot. Not exactly the vision of simplicity and living la vida local I had when starting our private Eden.
All this is to say that I am just another bozo on the bus, and am delighting in the fact that it looks like we may be able to eat a kale salad and a green zebra or two before the summer is out.