We’re in a bit of transition here around the house. Our kid says “I am not a napper anymore,” and she isn’t, except when she’s really run down from a day at school. So this means that she SHOULD be able to be in bed and sleeping by 8-8:30 or so. Which also means I SHOULD be able to have a few hours to myself before I need to hit the hay.
So last night, kid in bed, I thought: I could get more seed-starting accomplished. SIGH. I really need to be in the MOOD to do things like this, and last night I certainly was not. So I transferred some things (cardoon, artichoke, sea kale and angelica) to bigger pots and put off the seeding for later (like, this weekend, maybe) for the fennel and tomatoes and brassicas.
My one and only hope for this year is that I am able to really push the crops for lots of late-season storage. Meals like last night’s really drive this home. I mean, I ADORE potato/leek soup, but we’re low (very low) on potatoes and the leeks in the garden are also numbered. I am a fairly compuslive succession planter, and if I practice anything, it’s the French Intensive method, with its abhorrence of unused ground and tight spacing of plants. So this morning I looked over my garden plan. If numbers really mattered, I will here claim that last fall I increased (i.e., made new) the beds by 32% in the garden proper, and if I throw in the greenhouse beds, it’s another 14%. Management is the key, though, not rough square footages. It’s still a small garden considering how much space we truly have around here.
So I will still be doing my doodlings and machinations and plans and counter-plans. Nothing is set until the first seed is planted, and then not really as that seed will be rotated out when its time is nigh. I do plan on getting the peas and the favas in the ground on Saturday (St. Patty’s Day), though: the race will have begun, and all the planning in the world won’t mean a thing! That’s what’s so humbling about paper versus real gardening.