I wrote back in January about my seed order and the amount of hope contained in those little packets. Now the process has actually started, with the first sprouts coming up. This is actually a four o’clock plant from seeds I already had on hand. The plan is for 16 plants to be placed all around our deck. It’s a long process every year, and if I don’t get them going early enough the wonderful flowering display won’t really start until late in the summer. I wasn’t completely sure that the seeds I had were still viable as they’re several years old, but a number of them are coming up. It’s hard to believe that from this tiny beginning a big three-foot bush covered with salmon-pink flowers will emerge. I’ll coddle, coax and water the baby plants, then cross my fingers and plant them out, water, and wait until the flowers emerge, at which time the deadheading phase will begin.
Next weekend I’ll start my tomato seeds. (If you think that’s pretty late, bear in mind that that absolute earliest date I could plant them outside is May 15, but Memorial Day is safer. I’ve done my share of starting them too early and ending up with leggy, pale plants that never do very well.) I have to work around the big potted plants that we brought inside and put under grow lights last fall, so some ugly-but-practical framework to hold up the seed trays will come into play. It will drive Jim nuts! But that phase will only last for two months or so, at which point the room will revert to a cats-only zone. I’m sure they’ll appreciate not having the lights come on at 5:00 AM any more.
Not to be too heavy-handed here, but isn’t the gardening season a true microcosm of life in general? You just never know what’s going to happen. Late freezes, winds, hailstorms, and disease are all possibilities, as are perfect temperatures, nighttime rains, and a long growing season. All I can do is all I can do.
I can hardly wait until every Saturday sees me sweaty and exhausted at the end of the day. Who knows? This may be the year I grow the perfect tomato.