Getting the beds started
Early this morning, I decided to check back on the calendar. I wanted to know when we had placed an order, locally, for a small delivery of gravel. Seemed like just last week, but it was actually eight weeks past. We had met with the contractor, taken measurements, received an estimate, called back to confirm, stopped by to give particulars on gravel colour. And in the end (today), nothing. The time has come to move forward, with plan B.
And so, in a light drizzle, I completed the placing of our six seed beds. Beside the seventh, which was dedicated to strawberries a couple of weeks ago. All in a row, near the treeline, with the bottom covered with geotextile fabric. This afternoon, the mixing of a lot of soil began. Bales of peat moss. Compost. Vermiculite. More work than we had originally understood, but if things go well this will serve for years to come. An act of forward looking faith.
Tomorrow, weather permitting, the trays of seedlings will leave the womb (sic). A small growing cabinet in the garage, where things have been going gangbusters. And, again according to directions, we should move into the next level of self-sufficiency. I’ve not much experience in this; my parents were the generation that “broke faith” with their parents. No garden, during my childhood. Nor since.
Who knows what surprises the weather will bring during the summer. Plants are hardy; look at how hard city folk work to kill weeds. I’m looking at the image of a home grown salad, and I’m filled with optimism.
