March 7, 2010
I committed a random act of optimism today. Barely a week after the end of February I planted seeds in my gardens. The day was perfect for such behavior, the warm sun sowing its own seeds in people’s brains, sprouting late winter ideas: “Shed coats and hats, put on shorts and tee-shirts. Go run, go bike, go play a vigorous sport with others newly emerged from hibernation. And you, Gare: Go plant something!” And so, garden fork in hand, seeds in pocket, wife at side, I set off for the nearer of my two gardens.
In the small garden I planted what was left of last year’s lettuce seeds, some radishes and spinach. Part of the fun was anticipating doing it. Lately, I’ve been wanting to banish self-doubt and unnecessary caution in my life in general. So I emptied two of the little plastic vials of lettuce seeds, buttercrunch and romaine, from last year. Today, I will “risk” finishing all the seed I bought. What was I wanting to be so careful for? And besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Nothing will grow? Little would be lost. Even if only one or two of each grow, I’ll have greens for a salad, radishes for a snack, and the joy of watching them. Plus more room to plant something else.
I was a little disappointed, arriving in the garden and seeing two other people already at work. Is my bold and wackily optimistic act normal behavior for gardeners? I wanted to be the only one, but I wasn’t. Maybe I must content myself to be a member of an odd-ball tribe of people who cast these tiny little bomblets of life into the ground where they can, against many odds, germinate, sprout, grow, and possibly, if not over watered, under-fed, eaten by critters or laid low by disease, provide food for the two of us with a healthy dollop of satisfaction on the side for me.
The actual planting was uneventful. I made sure the buttercrunch seeds were barely covered with soil, needing light to germinate. I planted radishes and spinach about half an inch, or slightly less, deep. In a 60 square foot intensive garden I don’t plant in rows but in geometric blocks. If a radish needs to be two inches from the next one, then plant all seeds two inches apart. Why does this little patch need rows? For walking? For cultivating? Hardly. Just provide room for the leaves to form and barely be touching their neighbors.
The radishes should be ready in three weeks, the spinach in four, the lettuce in five. I can’t wait.
