The day after our epic Western Washington snowstorm, an even more epic ice storm moved in. Although it resulted in some beautiful pictures (what doesn’t look prettier encased in ice?), having an inch of the stuff coating every surface didn’t make for a happy farm mama. The ice turned my lovingly shoveled paths into skating rinks, and every time a chicken took a feathered, squawking tumble they glared at me like it was my fault. Apparently they’re smart enough to realize when they’re being laughed at so I dispensed extra oat treats to boost their fragile egos back up. All the critters spent most of the last week living it up inside their various residences, only venturing out into the cold at dinnertime.
I managed to get quite a bit of garden planning done while I was stuck indoors. I put in my various seed orders, and everything but the live plants have been delivered! The day my Seed Savers Exchange order came, I was so excited I told everyone about it, even the check out person at the QFC. This year I got seeds from all over the world, with absolutely no regard for the indigenous climate and growing conditions. The way I see it, Russia and Japan can’t be that different from Washington…I ordered a new kind of miniature greenhouse/seed starter this year. It’s imported, so it must be amazing. It has 47 little cylinders that supposedly promote strong root growth. I was sure that I would fill it within moments of unpacking it, but it’s still sitting on the kitchen island, waiting to realize its potential. I absolutely cannot commit to what type of seed I want to start. Do I want 47 different seeds? Or 1 row of 7 seeds? 2 rows of 14? I can’t get past the numbers, much less a commitment to what type of specific seed. Sigh. Check back next week.
|“guava” starts in my greenhouse|
I also checked out an indoor garden store in downtown Belfair this weekend. I had never been in one before, and it was conveniently located right next to a marijuana dispensary. There were signs all over the place stating that because federal law prohibits growing pot at home, if you asked specifically about how to grow marijuana, you would be kicked out of the store. Gene and I spent about 30 minutes inside prowling around, and it was unbelievably difficult to sort out the conversation we had with the sole employee inside. For one thing, he never stopped talking. Ever. For another thing, the entire place looked like a black velvet day-glo painting had thrown up all over the store. The clerk expounded at length about growing his pumpkin crop inside his bedroom, how to funnel the heat from the lamps through ducts to heat the rest of the house, and how difficult it was to control the lighting so the crop didn’t go to seed. The whole time I’m totally distracted by trying to figure out if he’s really talking about pumpkins, or if he means “pumpkins” (nod nod wink wink). Sigh. I have so little street cred it’s not even funny; I could never do undercover work. Given my profession, I felt compelled to make sure he understood that by “growing seeds in my greenhouse” I literally meant growing seeds in my greenhouse, and when I told him I had a good pumpkin crop last year, it was the kind of pumpkins you carve into jack-o-lanterns, not the kind you roll up and smoke, then overdo it with Mountain Dew and Cheetos.