More of life's little lessons

It's been a month now since I was cleaning out my garden space and planting seeds. My vision of a garden bursting forth with new plants by this time has not come to fruition, and has been peppered with few successes. I am a little disgruntled by the very few seeds that have germinated, and even more so with their very slow growth. As I was reviewing my post about the seeds I planted, I do realize that most of them have produced a few plants each. By now I have several (albeit tiny) basil plants throughout my garden. I have a few borage plants growing, and some nasturtiums. I see some of the cosmos flowers are doing well, too. The peppers are very slow, but some are coming up, and the lettuce, onion, garlic, zucchini, and squash are flourishing. My tomatoes, on the other hand, are another story entirely.

The other day, as I was huddled over my plants (as I do multiple times a day), I realized that gardening is a reflection of life itself. Seeds of thought, of action, of hope need proper germination. The right temperature, humidity, and light will either bring a seed to life, or it will lie stagnant in the soil and wither to nothingness. I find myself nurturing these little plants, feeling a love and passion for each. I want them to grow, not only for myself, but for the energy I have tranferred into each one of them. They each are a reflection of myself.

I was accused of loving my plants to death, scaring them because of my hovering. I suppose there is some truth in that to those plants that didn't make it, but for those that are struggling to survive, I say my love is what keeps them going. I nurture them as I try to do with my children. I suppose I liken these little plants' physical needs to my own children's emotional needs. Some would also say I hover, and mother my children to death, but I see myself as a protector of their emotions, helping them develop and mature into fruitful adults.

I remember one time when my son, who is now 19, was only four years old, had some emotional upheaval happen which brought him to tears. At the time we were visiting my in-laws; my husband's step-father said to my son, "Boys don't cry!" and made him feel even worse for feeling the way he did. Where does this notion come from? Why is it we stifle our sons from feeling anything and then expect them to be compassionate, loving adults? How can we expect our children to feel anything at all if we do not nurture their emotions?

I suppose, as with all things, there is a balance. But when it comes to tending my little plants, coaching them, nourishing them, and nurturing them, I won't give up. Not even when they've grown up and produced little fruits of their own.

Gardening Lessons learned

The Seed Saver seeds arrived and as I posted earlier, I eagerly planted as many as I could in peat pots to get a jump start on my garden. Here in Northern California we're still experiencing relatively cool temperatures. Highs in the 60s, with a few days in the 70s, and nighttime lows still into the 30s and 40s. Not knowing any better, I filled my little pots, set them in a tray of water and set them in the sun on a table near the garden. I watched anxiously and nothing happened. I watered and watched, watered and watched, but still nothing. After several weeks a few little brave seedlings began to emerge (not the 4-6 days most seed packages claimed!), and my peat pots began to get some green moss on the top. Jack so kindly pointed out that 1) you cannot drown the seeds and expect them to grow, and 2) you need heat to make the seeds grow. I was beginning to get so disheartened that all my efforts were for naught.

I must step back a moment and explain that this gardening venture is entirely new to me. I've never tended a garden of my own from start to finish. I've never tried to grow seeds, unless you count those elementary school lessons on seed germination. So this is all a new experience. What little I know, I've learned from books, or from sage advice from experienced gardeners.

Jack, in all his wisdom, found some building materials that were laying around the yard and bought some insulation, and built a box around my seeds to create a cold frame box to get those seeds started. He pulled out the excess water I thought was so necessary as he explained that damp soil works better than soggy soil. A few weeks ago he and I pulled down the greenhouse that I photographed for my previous post, and from that he salvaged a window that he used for the top of the new cold frame. Within a couple of days more seeds were popping out thanks to the warmth and the drying soil.



I did succumb and buy a few plants already started in a nursery. I bought garlic, a few onion sets, a couple of rhubarb plants, a horseradish plant, and a six-pack of Lobelias. Another lesson I learned was that the onion sets have multiple onions in each cell pack. I made the mistake of planting each bunch in one clump, but last night I took the time to dig them back up and separate each little shoot and plant them individually. I'll be digging up a lot of onions this fall!

As I discover the ways to live tight in tight times, I am learning how to make do with what materials we have on hand as much as possible. The cold frame box illustrates the ingenuity of utilizing scraps to make something new and useful with very little monetary output. Stay tuned for more on this topic, and the story of the creative garden fence pictured at the top!