Nothing Is Perfect
I came to an important realization last week. This was that if I continued to wait until the conditions improved, and the sun shone brightly, and the night temperatures stayed consistent, and it stopped raining constantly... I might not begin my gardening season until it was half over. My friends, there is no such thing as a perfect Spring, despite what last year afforded us. Nothing is perfect, and this little fact is one of the things I love most about gardening.
Shit happens, and lots of it. There is a strong possibility that my seedlings will be munched by the bunny I suspect may be living under my deck. The weather might stay crappy all summer and cause diseases, rots, mildews and a poor yield. I might muck everything up myself without outside influence. But the truth of it is that without risks, there are no rewards - it's in the uncertainty of this activity of growing that lies the joy of it.
It was with that simple realization in mind that I planted my first 2 veggie beds of the season on Monday, in the pouring rain, with cold-hardy veggies and seeds. I tied up my old, weather-worn bamboo poles into tripods with twine I found in the shed with chilly, damp fingers covered in clay, and prodded peas into the soil beneath in the hope that they will eventually climb to the top. I set out my seedlings, having coddled them since early March, into the mucky dirt in the hope that they'll thrive and will eventually form heads of broccoli and stalks of brussels sprouts. I drew lines into the earth and dropped tiny beet, radish and carrot seeds into the spaces available in the hope that they won't be washed away before they have a chance to germinate. I constructed a crude little cold frame out of u-shaped bamboo canes and an old plastic drop sheet in the hope that it just might help one bed germinate faster than the other.
It was cold.
It was muddy.
It was messy.
I was happy in every moment of it.
And I am hopeful.