The Promise of April
You may recall how, in early April, we planted from seed in one of those handy, dandy Little Monsanto Corporate Grower Portable Greenhouses and Genetic Modification Laboratories. What happened was that everything popped up quickly, too quickly, we got a lot of healthy little sprouts and they all began to wither away due to being stuck in little plastic containers from which the fat fingers of myself, Mr. Bitterman and Furious George could not cleanly rescue them.
Focus on the Favorites
With that in mind, what eventually went into Nick and Nora, the two garden plots we now enjoy, were those hardy sprouts that had been able to hang on in very tight living quarters for the six weeks until Colorado decided that it was no longer winter. (I think the decision has been made at this point, but I'm not sure that there still isn't an argument going on at the Weather Service.)
What I finally salvaged from the Junior Farmer GrowIt on Your Kitchen Table Kit for Wayward Gardeners Seed Starter Kit were the plants I was truly hoping to save: All the tomatoes grown from seed (What varieties? I don't know as I lost both the seed packets and the plotting chart of what got planted where) and the Socorro chiles, which I desperately hope succeed. (You haven't had chiles until you've had Socorro chiles.) The tomatoes and Socorros went into Nick, the upper garden, and were augmented by two purchased tomato plants (a Cherokee Black and a Mortgage Lifter) to fill in some dreadful empty spots, and a cucumber bush, which I thought might be a nice addition. It's the little dark spot in the center of the above photo. Either that is the dark spot, or Furious George was upset with me again and did something dreadful in the garden.
The Seedlings Get Their Own Space
Meanwhile, the beans, individual cucumber plants, garlic, fennel, squash and poblanos were all moved down to the new garden, Nora, a garden named after one of the great ladies in my life. Of them all, the only plants I can definitely identify are the garlic and the beans. Since I lost my plotting chart and got everything turned around, it's pretty much a crap shoot as to what is growing with what and where and with whom. I sincerely hope they remain friends, but -- what is life without a little adventure?
The Additions to Nora
In the hopes of filling in what looks like a LOT of empty space, I added two mature tomato plants to Nora: a Better Boy (we'll see about that!) and a President. Thing is, I don't remember getting the President. I thought I got another Cherokee Black. Either I grabbed the wrong one without thinking (which even for me is a stretch, as the two tomato types are about 16 feet apart on the racks), or someone switched one out when I left the box next to an unused register at the store.
So, I'm growing a President. I hope its a John Adams and not a MIllard Fillmore.
It will probably do better job than either ... oh, crap, even I can't joke about that anymore. It's getting too damned serious.
Those poblanos on the right seem particularly scrawny. I just hope they're adjusting to their new digs. I hope they get enough sun. I hope they are poblanos.
All the while I'm planting, Furious George and Mr. Bitterman are antagonizing The Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor from what they believe to be the safety and security of a barely budding cottonwood. It's safe to say that The BSC Neighbor is not handling it well.
He came outside, shook his fist and made some scurrilous remarks about Mr. Bitterman's parentage (a lovely couple that lives in Anaheim). He later sent his wife out with a bag of peanuts and a Wrist Rocket to annoy them and that only encouraged more bad behavior ... and a new war with the squirrels.
Armed conflict seems inevitable at this stage, unless I can get some fearless negotiators involved.
Mr. Trump's Secretary of State and National Security Advisors have offered their services.
Still, I'm holding out for Perry.
Perry is the one to have on your side, as he never loses. Just, in the heat of the moment, don't loudly admit to killing The Brutal Banker and tossing his body off the train just outside of Shanghai. Especially if the guy was really bumped off in Dairy Queen parking lot in Resita. Which is in Hungary. I didn't even know they HAD Dairy Queens. (Actually, Resita is in Romania. Like Them Baldwins, I always get Them Balkans Mixed Up.)
Will the Seedlings Make It?
Will the Sun once more show its face in Colorado?
Will I need more stuff from O'Toole's Garden Center?
And the answer to that, if you know me at all, is an unqualified, highly enthusiastic:
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