The Triumph of Hope Over Experience

But then this catalog came, and perhaps I was sitting down to lunch or some such and thought, ‘Well, I’ll just take a look.  Just skim through.’  And the above picture is the result.  I feel that Scheepers deserves my business, though, since I discovered that they had the long-lost (by me, anyway) Carmello tomato seeds for sale.  I had planted that variety back in Virginia at least a decade ago, and I had such an abundant crop that I took to bringing in a big colander full of them on Wednesday nights to church, together with a small stack of paper bags, and invited people to help themselves.  After that I wandered off into other tomato paths, giving in to the blandishments of the garden tour lady at Thomas Jefferson’s home Monticello who said that some tomato he planted (I hesitate to give the name, as I’m not sure I’m remembering it right) was the best-tasting one she’d ever had.  So I bought a packet in the garden store there, planted them, and experienced the heartbreak of seeing bright-red tomatoes hanging on brown, diseased plants.  At least I got a few.  I never again had much of a harvest, either there or here.  One year I had the most fabulous, healthy, monstrous tomato plants, completely free of any sign of disease–and not one single tomato.  Last year wasn’t too bad, and I had some success a couple of seasons ago with a seedless tomato, but on the whole my careful nurturing got me nothing to brag about.  And the Carmello seemed to have vanished from the earth.  One year I planted something called “Crimson Carmello” and got a few fruits, but it just didn’t seem the same.  Now I get to try this fabulous variety again.  We’ll see what happens.  (Apparently, though, “Sherwood” lettuce has vanished for good.  Why, oh why?)

So I’m so looking forward to this year’s garden.  If you’ve been following Happy Simple Living’s January Money Diet, you’ll know that one of her suggestions is to plan a garden.  So hey–I’m just doing what she said!  The principle I did try to follow in selecting the seeds was to choose vegetables I can’t readily buy.  So there are no green beans in the mix, for instance, or spinach.  But I’m trying out two types of sprouting broccoli (not the heading type–I can’t get those to develop heads, for some reason), and a small-bulb type of fennel (which always looks so limp and tired in the grocery store), and some interesting-looking lettuce varieties.  Basil and cilantro are musts, although I do need to follow through on making pesto this year.  And I have some flower selections that I hope will fill both the yard and the house with beauty.

As with so many areas of life, the anticipation of an event can often give just as much or more happiness as the event itself, in this case the harvest (which may never come). I quote below the closing paragraph of an article I wrote for Greenprints magazine many years ago, before we moved here to Colorado:

As I look at those hopeful little shoots, do I see the future? The aphids coating the Brussels sprouts? The spinach that bolted before it ever got big enough to eat? The ghastly orange flowers that were supposed to be a beautiful apricot? The spindly scabiosa? The tomatillos that fell off the bush before they ripened? The few dianthus that actually made it to maturity? No. I see none of those things. It’s just as well. I can still hope as I assiduously water and feed my little plantation. And next year, guess what? I’ll start all over again.

It’ll be a sad, sad day when I’m too old and decrepit to do all the scutwork it takes to plant and maintain a garden.  Just sitting here with these little seed packets makes me happy, even if I know that my chances of success are slim.  As my son used to say to me when he was little, “Next year!  Next year!  You’re always saying next year!”  Well, that’s the gardener’s mantra.  And it’s not so inappropriate for a lot of other endeavors.  What about you?  Is there something that gives you happiness, even in the attempt?