t-10 days

I'm wondering, as I listen to the gentle but steady rain outside and look at the weather forecast for the next few days, why it is, in The Little Prince, that the rose says she hates being rained on, and when she's thirsty, it's only her roots that want a drink?

And out there are my zucchini plants, flowered and rolling, getting soaked in the showers. I watered them myself recently- the past week has been almost incessantly dry and sunny, and some of the plants looked so happy when I held the watering can over them, while some shuddered and wilted. 

Plants are like children! So picky, yet so resilient! It's difficult to know what to do when new seeds want a nice heavy shower, and large plants seem to relish the rain, but delicate little sprouts quaver and wilt the moment the drops fall, and then grow dramatically in a day or two. Ay! Mother's anxiety. But it's ill-founded, I know. The soil out here has proved itself rich and bountiful year after year, and after all, mother nature is the ultimate nurturer... I think it's my interference that bothers me, on sunny days, well, how much do I water the garden? Does time of day matter? The hose drags over a baby kale plant. Doomed? How hard do I pack the soil? How much water drowns a seedling? What are ideal proportions of rain and sun?

These are questions for a farmer.

My mom, the epic heirloom tomato grower, has been the garden advisor thus far. However, I have found that she, like my grandpa, has a visceral, intuitive way of doing things (like cooking, gardening, etc.), that makes following her instructions tricky while she's away. (My grandpa is famous for his bread, but uses unique measurements--a pinch of salt, a handful of flour, a bit of yeast--making it almost impossible to reproduce.) I don't mean she's not systematic; she has a very organized gardening strategy and insists on planting in tidy rows. I just shudder to think what's at stake if I should miscalculate while not under her supervision and damage our crop. I like having her there to say, "That's good!" or "That's enough!" 

I read a little article in the Times the other day about garden thinning. The author was having qualms about, first of all, yanking baby sprouts from the ground, and second, learning that eating those aborted vegetable plants in a baby-greens salad can pose health risks. Apparently, juice from a radish stalk can burn your skin if the sun is out.

 

The packet for the summer squash seeds I planted several weeks ago with Patricia instructed that we plant two or three seeds in every hole to guarantee the successful germination of at least one little plant. Several weeks later, every single seed sprouted, and were so healthy looking that I couldn't bear to discard them. Instead, I carefully transplanted every second and third sprout into rows adjacent to the original. Fortunately, the transplanted sprouts, though not as robust as the plants that were left in their original positions, are actually doing quite well.

As of yesterday, the garden is looking vibrant, but not really productive quite yet. I think that's a good thing, because I'm assuming it bodes well for a full harvest when we need it in August. But I'm knocking on wood.