An Argument Lost

Here's a typical conversation I hold each time I pass the seed display in a home center, nursery, or even the grocery store:

"Look! Seeds!"

"You don't do seeds."

"Oh, here's some radishes. Wow, what a quick germination rate. And here's lettuce and chard. There are loads of different varieties. They're supposed to be fool proof."

"That would depend on the fool..."

"Carrots--those would be nice. And they fit into the category of "Vegetables Mr. Hands Will Eat."

"Shane, please..."

"Sunflowers--even school children grow these in styrofoam cups for Pete's sake. How hard could that be?"

"Is your memory so short? Sunflowers lured every slug in town to your yard last summer."

"An heirloom mix of zinneas. Those were my surprise all-stars in the garden last year. This could be great!"

"Seeds require seed-starting paraphernalia. You don't have seed-starting paraphernalia. You don't have space for seed starting-paraphernalia. Heck, you don't even have a sunny window the cats haven't already claimed."

"A little vermiculite, some old six-pacs or 4-inch pots--I've got those lying around--what's the big deal? That can't be a big deal."

"Germination, transplanting--this is going to be a nightmare."

"I'll keep it low key, there won't be much to transplant."

"Dangers from birds, slugs, frost--your, umm, kind of gardening isn't geared toward tender transplants."

"I'm nurturing! I can nurture!"

"Stop, please, don't buy those seeds."

"It'll be fine. An experiment, but it'll work out, you'll see."

Mind you, this conversation is with myself. And, I'm fairly embarrassed to say, I lost the argument. I bought seeds. Carrots and radishes and lettice and sunflowers (2 types!) and bachelor buttons and calendula and zinnea. There may be more, but that's all I'm admitting to just now.

However, I managed to germinate seeds! Yes, I used all of the breakfast bar surface area in the kitchen, and most of the baking sheets, pie tins and baking dishes as saucers for my vermiculite-filled containers. I nearly got myself into trouble on a regular basis by leaving for work late because I was busy fussing with the seeds, moving them from the breakfast bar to the patio table each morning. But the moment those spindly green wisps launch themselves vertically out from the grit, I have to admit, it's a damn miracle, and it was all worth it.

These days I've been nervously transplanting the seedlings into soil and of course can barely keep up. There have been a few tragedies--roots remaining implanted in the vermiculite whilst my thumb and forefinger are left grasping only tender leaves, and transplants that refused to thrive once tucked into their soily beds. But I can't wait for the next step--to the garden! Either into the wobbly new planting area or Mr. Hands' heftily fortified raised vegetable box they will go, but either way, it's a whole new adventure in my garden.