In Which I Dream of Vegetables

In Which I Dream of Vegetables

The weekend before last, it was chilly, but the month’s worth of endless snow had mostly melted. I got out in the garden for a bit, not quite getting ready for summer but getting ready to get ready for summer. Getting ready to let myself believe there might be a summer. I considered pruning the wild black raspberries. I do need to make a decision soon about whether to transplant the canes that have sprung up all kinds of all over the yard to start building a more proper patch this year or let them do as they wish for another season and start imposing order after the harvest. I acknowledged that I need to pull up the short fence we put up last year to keep our woodchuck roommate away from my seedlings — it worked, but then the deer showed up — or figure out a way to incorporate proper deer protection into it. I sighed and accepted the fact that I need to build more raised bed frames than I remembered needing so I can fully convert to a raised-bed garden this year.

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Last year’s let’s-stay-inside weather hit a lot faster than I was expecting, and this is where I ended up having to leave things. I have been working on converting this space of grass and weeds and thatch into our food supply for almost 4 years now, and every year it reclaims a portion of itself when I am not looking. The first walk-through of the year is always a little rough and tends to leave me desperate to rake and mow and till and beg and cry and maybe set (controlled) fire to it and just plant straight into the ashes. But this time I found that more than anything else I wanted to appreciate the fact that I can see my yard at all after the winter we’ve had. I weeded the beds and cleared the paths I had managed to get set up before the cold hit last Fall, then finally spread the bags of top soil and mulch that have been frozen or buried under all that snow between the beds. I put in some brassica seeds, even though it’s still too early to expect much to take hold and the seeds i had on hand are probably too old to be terribly productive, because I was feeling a bit too hopeful about my prospects to only deal with dirt and dead grass that day. Then I watched the snow hit again within 72 hours.

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I put a blanket over my brassica bed and waited for things to melt again. Which they did by this past weekend, so on Sunday I went back out and spread some wildflower seed. Because eventually it has to be summer, right?

Last, Now, Next

Last, Now, Next