Ah, what could be more fun than a rapid-fire seed order to several great suppliers? As usual, we've bitten off more than we can chew, especially because we like to start all our own Solanums inside, on a funky light stand my dad whipped up out of PVC pipe (he's a small-scale flower farmer, so he's passed on his tricks). Last year, that was at least 200-300 plants. This year will be even more psycho, in part because I got what I wanted for Christmas: one of those nifty seed block makers. You pop in the moistened potting mix (consisting mostly of compost and peat) and presto! An ice-cube-shaped planting medium with no plastic waste involved.
This year, we're ordering a bunch of seed potato, actually about 8 pounds of organic fingerings of various odd types, way more than we planted last year. I have to say: Homegrown potatoes are amazing, especially fingerlings. I don't know if they lose moisture in transit, but they are so delicious right when you dig them that no butter or other oil is necessary. They simply melt in your mouth.
Plants, to me, are powerful companions. They have such silent integrity, such strength to flourish even in places where you'd expect them to languish. They'll appear where you least expect them and thrive. Last year, for instance, we noticed that some squash-like plant was sprouting all over our garden (we use compost made in part from all our kitchen scraps). By the end of the summer, we had huge vines covering large portions of the paths between our beds, all from a butternut squash we had thrown on the pile. They wanted to grow, so we let them.
I love this banal magic, the mild surprise when nature gently shows you that she will do as she pleases, and life will show up where it will. I love that I'm engaging in the same activities as my ancestors, tending plants and eating the fruits of this labor. Fortunately, if I mess up, I can still eat, unlike folks in the past, for which I am grateful. I have such respect for subsistence farmers, who often face hunger even when they are highly skilled.
It's funny to think that in a month, the now snow-covered ground will be yielding to our hoes and supporting little shoots of emerging claytonia, mache, and other cold-tolerant greens. Inside, tiny tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, and collards will be cozy under their lights. And not long after that, we'll eat our first backyard salad.
In this, at least, I am a fountain of fertility.
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12 comments:
This is the most beautiful post. I've already returned this morning several times to re-read it. I love your connection to nature and also envy it; although each year I try to grow more, as yet I haven't ventured to vegetables, as we just don't have much sunshine in our backyard. So I've been concentrating on shade plants and honestly, I don't think I have the natural knack you do.
It's so funny though what you said about potatos. As soon as you started talking gardening I was going to comment that growing up in Iowa, we had a lot out of the garden and a potato straight out of the ground is something completely different than a grocery-store potato. No butter necessary, you are exactly right!
I hope that this wonderful connection to the fertility of the ground helps get you over the winter hump and also feeds your soul for further fertility!
Thanks also for the Team of Rivals suggestion-- it's going to be next on my to-read list.
Thanks, AB! I'm so glad my post comforted you; writing it certainly made me feel better. It's really tough, the shade. We have a lot of shade in the back of our yard, and some herbs (fennel, savory, sage, chives) seem to do okay. Sorrel also seems to be able to tolerate partial shade, too.
My guy was riveted to Team of Rivals. For him, it was an absolute page turner. I hope you really like it, too!
This is a beautiful post - and now I totally want to try some fresh potatoes. My yard is urban and we don't have much land, but we had so much fun last year with our tiny vegetable patch and herb garden.
It's such a satisfying feeling to eat something you've grown yourself.
My mom has a huge yard and grows all sorts of produce which as a child seemed awful because I was forced to eat things like spaghetti squash. (Ug. Worst squash ever.) Now I love going over there and being able to pick apples or spinach or basil or tomatoes.
I'm a flower girl myself--I've always failed at veggies. But I feel your connection and hope for spring. It's coming soon here in the Mid-Atlantic. My bulbs are already sprouting. (In fact, if I don't get the manure and mulch down in the next week I'm going to have to work around the crocuses, again.)
Spring and new life and new hope and fertility. I can't help but think this spring is going to be the time....
Isn't it wonderful that no matter what goes on in your life nature does her thing? I too find great comfort in plants and growing things (even if I'm not particularly good at it). After my miscarriage last spring, I planted lots of plants and loved to watch them bloom. Of course, the irony that I could keep a plant alive and not a baby was not lost on me.
In the end, though, the comfort I got was more than the bitterness I felt. I was happiest when everything was in bloom and I could watch the butterflys flitting from plant to plant.
Wow. You are a beautiful writer, and this is a magical post- a poem, really. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with this city-bound girl. I will be reading this one again.
-Dot
I'm so jealous of your green thumb.
Mine tends to be more...what's the opposite of green?
You are my hero. I've always wished for better gardening skills. After my failed gardening attempt, we started visiting a farm once a week in the summer. But it's not the same of knowing it's your own space that you planned and planted. This is such a good post.
And I will totally bring the vodka and black bread if you'll provide the potatoes.
I love this post! It makes my mouth water for fresh foods. I've gotten so much more into plants and gardening since all this infertility business started. I live in NYC so no land of my own, but my back fire escape I've made into a urban jungle. So therapeutic to grow things!
This post totally made me jealous. My backyard, that I longed for so much and insisted on when we were house shopping, is mostly shade. I have no idea why that didn't occur to me until I went o plant. Duh! It only gets good sun in the late summer and fall and by then my tomatoes are half dead and the flowers haven't bloomed. But I can't be totally sad about it -- focusing on figuring out a way to make it work got me through two tough summers of IF. I had big huge plans on revamping in time for this summer and realized I shouldn't commit to gardening when I hope to have an infant at home in the peak of summer. Seems like a fair trade but I'll miss my late summer tomatoes. Enjoy the fruits of your labor!
hi, I came over thru the roundup. what a gorgeous post, I love it. there is something so therapeutic and grounding about digging in the dirt to nurture life. and something so satisfying about reaping the rewards of your hard work. (unlike my bodily fertility efforts.) you've inspired me to get back outside to our tiny little patch and containers. our first cucumbers and tomatoes last year made the best salad I've ever had. thanks for the imagery and memory. ~luna
This is such a beautiful post. Mark it for the 2008 Creme de la Creme at Stirrup Queens.
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