Happy New (Gardening) Year!

Today is one of my favorite days of winter—seed ordering day! Yesterday, while the Boyfriend was waxing his snowboard and doing very winter-like things, I hung out with him in the garage and pulled out my tub of seeds to take stock of what we had, what we needed, and what we could probably toss. It felt good just to hold all the seed packets in my hands and feel the seeds through the paper. It felt good to lose myself in thoughts of spring and green things. Each packet has a story or a memory—the tomato seeds I bought to grow for Mom's mother's day present, the green beans that didn't produce until October, the Siletz tomato seeds that have been with me since the Mini. I organized all the packets in a way that probably only made sense to me and would make any horticulturist or true gardener cringe.

Armed with my current inventory list, I sat down this morning with the seed catalog, which of course I had already perused and marked up, and decided what to order. I'm sure I ordered more than we need, but it's so hard to narrow it down. Here's the final order:

We're probably not doing melons or corn this year. After a couple disappointing years with both, we're going to give the space to something else this year. We're doing more beans, carrots, and squash. I'm also going to do more herbs since they dried so nicely in the food dehydrator last year. The flavor of our dried oregano doesn't even compare to what you buy in the store. I also want to grow dill this year, although I'm a bit nervous since I've been told it spreads like wildfire. However, with homegrown dill, Mom and I can probably make our pickles with almost all homegrown vegetables this year since I do garlic and we both do onions (her more successfully than me).

The logical part of me knows that spring is so very far away, but seed ordering day always makes me feel like we've turned the corner. When the seeds come in, I'll start some seeds indoors, invariably much too early, and start the weekly countdown to the average last frost date. I'll kill lots of seedlings and probably set my beautiful tomato starts outside much too early, forget about them some chilly night, and kill them, all just to start the process over again the next day, undeterred by how bad I apparently am at this seed starting thing. That's the miracle of it all: the hope and promise and potential that come with spring and each of those tiny little seeds is absolutely indestructible.

Before and After

I suppose anything that really brings great pleasure also has the potential to cause great disappointment. Such was the case last weekend. And I suppose, ultimately, I was the direct cause of the disappointment, but I'd prefer to blame it on El Niño, global warming, or some other matter largely out of my control. But no, last Friday night I didn't watch the 10 o'clock news and didn't know it might freeze. I left my beautiful tomato plants outside (in the cold house, mind you!) and am solely responsible for their demise.

When I woke up Saturday morning, I immediately looked outside because it was supposed to be a sunny day and I couldn't wait to see blue skies. Well, along with those beautiful blue skies I saw a completely frosted white lawn. I ran into the office to look at the thermometer—25 degrees. I went outside and opened up the cold house. From a distance, you wouldn't have known, but up close I could see the little frost crystals. Then I touched a leaf. Completely frozen. I brought them inside even though I knew it was too late. It was hard to make myself bring them in, because I knew as soon as they thawed they would look like beautiful baby tomato plants no more.

Sure enough, the warmth of the house thawed them almost immediately and they fell all over themselves—limp, wet, mushy, hardly recognizable versions of their former selves. It hit me hard this year because I had really worked to get good tomato starts this year—better soil, bigger containers, even a dose of fish emulsion. Oh well, so it goes. I started new seeds the same day with the realization that we might have to just buy plants if we actually want to harvest any tomatoes this year. But I'm not willing to give up on the seeds just yet. Judging by the cold, wet spring we're having (yes, there is a chance of snow tomorrow), it might be mid-June before I can plant them anyway!

They're here!

Last night, the Boyfriend and I walked to the mailbox together in a drizzling, cold rain that was supposed to manifest itself as a light shower later that evening. The weathermen were wrong--crazy, I know. He opened up the mailbox and amongst the bills, junk mail, and what have come to be weekly rejection of coverage letters from my insurance, there was a small package. A little bubble mailer stuffed full of happiness. Inside was my 2011 seed order from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds and all the happiness that comes from having thousands of baby plants in your hands all at once. The reality that only a few of those potential babies will grow up to fulfill their destinies doesn't squelch my happiness one iota.

What makes me even more excited is that seed planting time is already upon us. I've read that I can start my onion seeds anytime now. I am straight up looking for redemption this year when it comes to our onions. Did you hear about our onions last year?

We started them early and transplanted them into the cold frames. They did quite well right from the start. We thinned them out by eating green onions, which were fabulous. But we held off on pulling them all for green onions because we wanted some big, beautiful onion bulbs in the fall. We eat a lot of onion--sorry, we try to carry gum with us at all times. In any case, the onions got their spot in the raised bed all year. They occupied valuable real estate, but we knew it would all be worth it in the fall.

They grew and grew and grew. In fact, they kept growing when the tops were supposed to die and fall over. Still, we just thought we had the biggest onions in the valley. The Boyfriend finally pulled them out one day last fall when it was clear we couldn't wait for them much longer. This mysterious harvest process had been hugely gratifying up to this point. Pulling each garlic bulb out of the ground had been like a religious experience to me. When the Boyfriend harvested our fingerling potatoes, I squealed with delight and showed them to anyone who would feign interest. When he pulled the onions out of the ground, our streak was over. They looked like giant green onions or leeks. They didn't have a bulb at all. I had clearly done something horribly wrong with our onions. Thinking they were defective, we took them straight to the compost pile. I didn't even plan on planting them again this year.

Then, a few weeks ago I was flipping through my 2011 seed catalog and some text jumped out at me: "bunching onion . . . non-bulbing white type." Excuse me? There are non-bulbing onions? I ran out to look at my seed packet from last year. Right there on the back of the packet it said: "Does not form bulbs." I read for a living. Holy crap.

So, for 2011 I will plant and pick green onions from last year's seeds and try again to get those large, homegrown onions we were hoping for last year. I ordered "Ailsa Craig" onion seeds, a "well-known globe-shaped heirloom onion that reaches really huge size--5 lbs is rather common." I'm just shooting for globe-shaped.

It's a National Almond Day Miracle!

Two days ago I ran down the stairs yelling to the Boyfriend that it was a Christmas miracle. A Christmas miracle, Boyfriend! After asking for explanation, the Boyfriend informed me that onion seeds sprouting on February 16 was neither a miracle nor in any way related to Christmas. Always the pragmatist he is. So I've revised my statement, but I'm sticking with miracle.

Yeah, I get it. Seeds are supposed to sprout and do every day. But my seeds don't! At least not in a regular and predictable manner. And . . . here's the real miracle of it--the seed package said the seeds would germinate in 7 to 14 days. Well, my seeds just so happened to sprout in 3 days! My black thumb is fading to green as we speak. I don't know what the future holds for these little onion babies--I've read I should have planted onion sets, rather than seeds--but it can't hurt that they're off to a good start!

These seeds were the first ones I have ever started in one of those little windowsill greenhouses with the expanding peat pellets. I'm a big fan now. In fact, I'll probably start some peppers in them today. Adding water to the pellets reminded me of those expanding sponges when I was a kid: place dinosaur egg in water, let sit, find dinosaur upon return. This time, I added water, two tiny seeds, and found onions upon return--the adult version is just as much fun, and I love that the tiny little greenhouse already smells of sweet onions. I can taste them already . . . Ok, maybe not. That will be the real miracle.

In other sprouting news . . . when I got home from work yesterday the Boyfriend had a picture on his phone of a little sprout that he found in the cold frame. He said there are probably 5 or 6 sprouts. I went out there this morning but didn't want to open up the cold frame just yet--it's chilly this morning and it looked so nice and warm and humid in there. In any case, I don't know if it's the lettuces or radish that sprouted, but either way I'm excited that it wasn't too cold for something to germinate out there.

In bulb news, the tulips and irises have broken the surface but have yet to commit to flourishing in the late winter weather. Like most of us, they're holding out for spring. However, the garlic seems more ambitious and has really started growing in the last couple weeks--which corresponds to some warmer weather and a good layer of compost mulch around them when I was adding it to the raised beds. Notice the paw prints that seem to have narrowly missed crushing the little green shoots towards the back. Thank you, dogs, for your strategic and considerate trespassing.

Green things are happening, and for me, that's still a miracle.

It's February

I have good news to report, although the title may have given it away. It's February! I love it when good news is guaranteed to come--February is always reliable for that. Despite the Boyfriend's urging that all months are created equal and possess their own similar possibility for beautiful days (very optimistic of him, I know!), January is my least favorite month. However, the last week or 10 days of January had some great events, particularly because they made me think past January and the various shades of gray that seem to be permeating the Valley and the people shuffling through it.

Edwards Greenhouse has been offering winter Saturday classes in preparation for spring planting. I've been to the first two and was absolutely impressed. The turnout was incredible--in fact, the staff was clearly overwhelmed at the response. They were digging out chairs (pun intended) from all over the greenhouse to provide seating and some people still had to stand. The first class was about planning a vegetable garden and I really learned a lot (which shouldn't surprise anyone since I'm a complete novice when it comes to gardening.) The second class also had a great turnout, but the staff was prepared with a microphone and more seating, although again people had to stand. This most recent class was about seed starting and again had tons of helpful information. I even bought some early-season seeds on my way out. If you're in Boise, I couldn't urge you enough to stop by the greenhouse. Although the place is always incredible, there is something magical about a bright, colorful, humid greenhouse full of blooms in the dead of winter. It's cheaper than Prozac and I would venture to guess more effective!

Other preparations are underway as well. The Boyfriend has been quite busy and I'm so thankful for his beautiful efforts. He finished our new raised bed for the garden and a gorgeous cold frame, which I think I will set in one of the existing raised beds and put to use right away. Seriously, isn't it incredible? After poring over my seed catalog for a couple of days, I finally decided (with restraint, I might add) what varieties to try this year. My order went in the mail yesterday and now I guess I just have to be patient.

I'm also scheming up a compost pile plan. I haven't quite decided what to use but am looking at a number of different options. The major concern is two dogs that like to eat rotten things. I'll spare you the details, but just trust me that they really do eat rotten things. Since rotten is kind of the premise of a compost pile, I'm trying to be proactive here! A slow couple weeks of work has left me plenty of time to dream and scheme and rejoice in the fact that January is done for another year.

Oh and I almost forgot. As I was walking by the side of the house yesterday, I noticed that Grandma's irises were peeking up out of the soil--just barely, but enough to make me smile ear to ear. Spring is in fact coming, and the fact that the message came from the oldest plants at our new place--plants that probably heralded in spring for Grandma time and time again--made it that much more real. Forget that groundhog, I've got an inside source!