Now that our wee buds have gotten a little bigger and stronger, the time has come to transplant them to their permanent home! For us, in our apartment, that means a container. For some, it means the ground. We simply placed all the newspaper rounds into a container full of soil. And now, it’s a garden!
Meanwhile, our spinach is shooting up, as are our onions, and we’re compulsively checking on the tomatoes to see if there’s any change there. None yet. But I’m ready.
I was feeling pretty awesome about our vegetable garden until an overly logical friend came over yesterday, peered out of our window skeptically, and said, “Oh great, you’ll have a meal’s worth of food.” I’ve chosen to ignore him… but it still stings.
Sprouts! Wee buds have erupted in our window garden and look suspiciously like potential food!
Despite incredible environmental odds, our little buds have made an appearance into our home, and are becoming a minor obsession.
“Have you watered the plants today?”
“Yes, of course!”
“I might have watered them again. They looked hungry.”
“Are they getting any sun?”
“Does the TV set count?”
“I don’t know, some form of light?”
“Have you spoken to them today?”
“I played them Mozart.”
“Mozart is for babies, not plants.”
“What’s for plants?”
… Excessively. I’ve pre-booked a psychologist for their future developed zucchini and spinach-selves to deal with the neuroses caused by their smothering parents.
Also, due to the auspicious start of our buds, I have become predictably cocky about the color of my thumbs. And have therefore jumped the proverbial gun and planted cherry tomatoes, as of this evening. I am clearly doomed for a smack-down.
As one of my favorite human beings said to me yesterday, “Winter, when you’re this late to the party, don’t show up at all.” And as she, slightly north of us, expected SNOW last night she has reason to revoke her RSVP.
The fickle change in weather patterns is putting a serious damper on our One Square Foot project. Our windowsill is either too cold to promote growing – with chills radiating through the glass – or the heater is blasting nearby enough to dry our poor baby buds right out.
Spring, why do you tease me so?
We’ve been diligently watering and trying to fend off both the stifling heat and the bitter cold, adjusting temperatures, fitfully moving plants off the radiator, onto the radiator, off the radiator… but we haven’t given up hope. I’m going to love these damn plants ’til they bud, whether they ask to or not. Winter unwelcome.