Some would say I am a slow learner. I dispute that. On the
other hand, if measured solely by my dismal record in growing plants from seeds,
I am forced to agree. This year was the eighth successive year that I failed in
trying to create hardy vegetables and lovely flowers from seeds and then
nurturing them to maturity. For some reason or other, my seeds don’t turn into
healthy, growing plants despite having spent countless hours and dollars on
grow lamps, germination benches, plastic trays and guaranteed seeds. Each year
I have a seed germination rate lower than the tax rates paid by rich people. I should have learned by now that success in
this area is beyond me. MAYBE I AM A SLOW LEARNER.
As a cold, hard winter ended this year, once again, I
dreamed of evening summer walks with a margarita in hand, strolling among bountiful
gardens bursting with color and fragrance. In my reverie, the amble through my
summer garden was always an enchanting pastime based on admiration for my own
handiwork – working the soil, raising the plants, germinating the seeds – all done
at little cost since I always imagined robust plants started from low-cost
seeds. By late winter, my dreams reached a crescendo and I was salivating over
seed catalogs that arrived at my door. As I poured over the glossy magazines, my
lovely wife had the temerity to remind me that last year I swore an oath that I
would never again try to coax seeds from their tiny hard shells into tender
seedlings. Somehow, I managed to forget last year and I plunged forward into
ordering new seeds.
In my defense, I should explain that this year I tried
something different. No longer would I attempt to distribute tiny seeds the
size of dust into plastic trays filled with soil that had clumps 1,000 times
larger than the seeds. No longer would I fill the trays with water and float
the seeds onto the floor. No longer would I cause tender plants to fall over
when I missed watering them during a weekend trip. No longer would the cold nip
those few that managed to survive when I sat them outside. None of that for me.
This year, I said, I would only start seeds that are easy to grow; beans, peas,
and zucchini, and maybe those free packets of mixed flowers the seed company
gave me a couple years ago. Furthermore, I would start them outdoors in my new
mini-greenhouse that I purchased at the hardware for a mere $30 - you know, the
one with the clear plastic that had two zippers securing it over a thin metal frame.
And, just to guarantee success, I would wait to plant them in my new little
greenhouse until it was almost time for planting outdoors. “I can’t miss,” I
chortled as I assembled the seeds, the plastic trays, the paper pots, the peat
–filled soil, and then stuffed the whole mess into my new mini-green house and
zipped the clear cover.
I found the perfect spot. My deck faces south and it has a
stairway that shields the wind. I put the greenhouse against the wall of my
house and against the stairwell. Full sun. Protection from wind. A new
greenhouse. Easy to grow seeds. I couldn’t miss. As I planted the seeds, I
almost tasted the fresh veggies and smelled the lovely flowers that would be
sure to result.
Oh, did I watch over those seeds! Each day I checked their
progress, unzipping the clear plastic cover to expose the trays that I
carefully pulled forward for a minute observation. Every day or two I added
more water. Nothing seemed to be happening even as I tingled with anticipation.
The days stretched into weeks. And then, some ominous hints began to appear of
things going wrong. First, the clear plastic separated from the zipper, leaving
gaping voids. It wasn’t my fault. The manufacture of the greenhouse must have
been faulty. I wondered if the wind could do some terrible damage to my
seedlings, if they ever emerged. Next, the zipper failed. Now, the voids in the
clear plastic were even bigger by the failure of zipper near the top where it
refused to join its mate. Maybe it was a marital failure between the two sheets
of plastic, I don’t know. I should have been tipped off by these problems. As
the two week date passed, the seeds still hadn’t germinated despite the seed
package’s confident statement to the contrary.
I don’t know why the seeds didn’t germinate sooner. Maybe it
was too hot: the sun warmed the greenhouse to something above a thousand
degrees during the day. Maybe the seeds were too old (I had saved some of them
from prior year’s). Maybe it was the unexpected cold that we had a few nights
when the temperature dipped below freezing -- I don’t know. Several days after
all the seeds should have germinated, I found that only the trays dedicated to
lettuce had several tiny leaves emerging from the soil. They were so small to
be barely visible. I waited two more days and then the weatherman gave a warning
for a nighttime frost. Worried about those tiny leaves, I decided to move the
entire assembly into my garage for warmth. It was heavy.
The next morning, since the weather forecast was positive, I
picked up the heavy greenhouse in the garage and carried it a few steps from
the garage into the sun, foregoing its former distant location on the deck. “It
might be cold again,” I reasoned, requiring another carry to the garage. It was
the kiss of death. While I was away that day, the wind came up. I came home
that afternoon to find my new greenhouse lying on the ground, my precious seed
trays upside down, the plastic trays and soil and invisible seeds now scattered
in the grass. I prayed aloud for several minutes. Finally, I cleaned up the
mess. I threw the soil and paper pots on my compost pile and folded the torn,
clear plastic and cheap metal greenhouse for storage in my barn. It was a total
loss, another failure that stretched my record to nine consecutive failed
attempts at growing plants from seeds.
That night I must have dreamed about germinating seeds. I
awoke with a new plan. I still had a few bean and pea seeds remaining in
unopened packages and I sorely wanted fresh garden peas this year. I decided to
forego the greenhouse route and plant the seeds in my garden. “Why not get a
head start on seed germination?” I asked myself, since it was still a few days
before June 1, the traditional day for planting in the north woods. I took the
remaining peas and beans and a few other seeds, put them into a plastic cup, filled the cup with
water, and set it upon my picnic table to warm in the sun, hoping to foreshorten
the germination date and salvage what little pride remained in my abilities as
a gardener.
The next day was close enough to June 1 for me and I decided
to plant my peas and beans. I spent an two hours of hard work using my hoe and
rake to prepare the soil. I went to the picnic table for my seeds. They were
gone. The plastic cups were empty. I looked everywhere. It finally dawned on me
- a foul and nasty chipmunk or squirrel had climbed onto my table and devoured
every seed. None remained for me except a few beet seeds that were too small
and hard too eat. Another loss. Another blow to my fragile ego. That night, the wind came up and tipped over the last cup with the beet seeds. They are
now hidden in my lawn.
So, here is a request
and the reason for this blog. Could you please send me an e-mail sometime next
February and tell me that under no circumstances should I attempt to grow
plants from seeds. Maybe I will learn.
