This morning at the park, Jelly saw 6 dogs and 10 balls. You do the math. (Don’t forget to solve for both x and y.) How I long for a dog that ambles through the open meadow, sniffing the
peed-on fragrant wildflowers. Is that too much to ask?
I’m sure you’re dying to know, after all this time, “How does your garden grow, Annie?” I have learned so much since we started this new venture, but I have so much more to learn. Don’t ask me for gardening tips because I don’t have any. Follow the instructions on the seed packet, water regularly, and enjoy the spoils.
Rule-bound gal that I am, I have followed the seed-packet instructions to the letter (with one exception noted below), and I have something to show for my diligent efforts. I spaced the seeds the required distance, planted them at the required depth, watered them regularly (more often I’ve watched J. water them), and we are now starting to reap the vegetables of our labour.
We have harvested the odd tomato from our thriving plants, one little red strawberry from our patch, and several salads’ worth of lettuce and kale. If all of our little green tomatoes ripen, we will have enough to eat bruschetta and tomato soup and tabbouli for months. Our beautiful little flowers on our bean plants have become itty bitty beans, which will hopefully continue to grow so we can eat them someday.
Thankfully, Jelly continues to help thin our greens. No more supermarket kale for her; the garden variety is so much tastier. The dog is adept at thinning, but on this front I have failed. Thinning would involve destroying a plant I have lovingly nurtured. Why would I kill the runt of the litter? Don’t all seeds deserve a full life?
You won’t be surprised to learn, then, that our larger-than-life zucchini plants are encroaching not only on one another but on all the now-sun-deprived plants around them. As I write, mounds of mini zucchini are fighting for their lives. It will be survival of the fittest, plant edition, in our zucchini patch.
Today we jumped an especially exciting garden hurdle. After weeks of watching our eggplant plants take root, we were blessed with our very first eggplant blossom. Eggplants are not grown in this climate because our growing season is short, so I’m trying to temper my excitement. We are crossing our fingers, between waterings, for at least one batch of baba ganoush before the first frost.
As you can probably tell, I still have a lot to learn. For example, J. recently taught me that one huge potato plant may bear many potato babies rather than one ginormous one. Potato plants are notorious for multiple births, I now understand. Here’s hoping we’ll grow at least enough taters for a side of tots.
Next year’s garden can only improve over this year’s, right? I won’t plant as many radishes, I will remember to plant my greens out of Jelly’s reach, and I will thin my zucchini. What are we possibly going to do with all those zucchini? Suggestions are appreciated. Better yet, steal some. We’ll never notice.