Crawling out of my hole

When a thing is born, what does it first do?

Write a novel? Wash the dishes?

Nah. It cries. And sleeps, and learns to crawl.

Are rules the same for the re-born? And is too grandiose to suggest that in a way, this is happening to me?

It's not about the new year - it's about the final days of a deal that I reluctantly made with myself last spring, when I thought my company was going down and me with it (yay, newspapers). I decided to launch myself into the industrious, ambitious, obsessed business world to see if I could "make it" outside of the only job I've ever known.

In doing so, I made this deal and traded in my entire life. No more pottery, no more twice-daily yoga, or long hikes, or friends, or painting, or GARDENING, or blogging (which you are surely to not notice, as no one reads this anymore, therefore, there's no you there).

However, I did not lose my job. I just gained another full-time job, and for the past 9 months, been doing them both - and nothing else.

Boring.

That, though, is ending. I can't say for sure how, but I desperately want my life back, the connection to the earth and things that grow and have nothing to do with this man-made world of concrete and invisible economies.

This was a pre-meditated rebirth - meaning that I've been planning for it for months. Stage One was full of crying and being totally unimpressive, like most infants.

Stage Two came this weekend. I dusted off my seed catalogues, recruited the ever-supportive Erik and set about to make Plans for this year's Garden. Or, ahem, gardenS. We're expanding the operation.

On tap this growing season:

kale (dwarf blue curled scotch and lacinato)

potatoes (French Fingerling and All Blue)

tomatoes (Sidduth's strain Brandywine and Black from Tula)

Chinese cabbage (Joi Choi)

beets (early blood turnip)

carrots (Paris market and Danvers)

zucchini (green tiger)

summer squash (summer crookneck)

winter squash (table queen acorn-type)

dill

cucumbers (sweet success hybrid)

chard (Fordhook giant)

corn (Reed's yellow dent)

sunflowers

garlic (German extra hardy)

eggplant (listada de Gandia)

purple pole beans

ground cherries (Aunt Molly's)

lima beans (Big Mama)

spinach (America)

bell peppers (purple beauty)

hot peppers (mustard habanero)

asparagus (Jersey giant)

arugula

basil (sweet Genovese)

cilantro

strawberries (3 types)

lettuce (8 types)

And Erik has finally agreed that this is the year of the Chicken! So eggs are hot compost are coming to a blogger near you.

It is January 2 and about 12 degrees outside. Most would agree that it's winter. But for me, it's springtime. And parts of me that have been crusted over by ice and buried in a snowbank are beginning to thaw. Beginning to believe that my life can be drawn back into it's old, more earthy orbit, and that soon my eyes will be filled with visions of green and growth and tiny, fluffy, helpless chicks wobbling about, squawking, just barely born.

And I will totally understand.

Garden Porn ("Winter vs. two but's" final installment)

The mailman came the other week and delivered a fantasy. The seed catalog is 98 pages of wishful thinking and undreamed-of self confidence. Gorgeous images of vegetables - voluptuous, dewy and thrown together in opulent piles - promise themselves to me, if only I am skilled enough.

There's the rub. The produce is one sort of taunt, the obvious one. But the real fantasy here is that I could be the sort of master gardener to coax these beauties from the earth. That I could pop a seed, maybe two, check in the morning and wham, I'm a garden goddess. Gone would be the memories of puny carrots, short as erasers and equally tasteless. Forgotten is that dreadful August day when I accidentally cut the main vine of the winter squash. And I'd no longer feel so inadequate when faced with the mountains of robust produce at each farmers' market.

The etymology of the various vegetables listed in the catalog could be a study in itself. Some names are plainly descriptive: (ie, the albino beet)

some are mildly offensive:
(the "lazy housewife" bean),

and some are straight to the point: ("Jacob's Catle Gassless" bean - which is "Reported to have half the flatulence of regular Jacob’s Cattle." FYI).

I think two of my favorite names (given that I've think this whole magazine is a greener, dorkier version of porn) are "Kentucky Wonder Bush" and "Kentucky Wonder Pole." I am not making this up.

I guess Kentucky really is for lovers.

Moving on - let's talk about carrots. And my very, very inadequate, puny carrots that fed only the ants. I have hope for this year, though, for several reasons. First, now that the soil has had a year to assimilate all the compost I've added, I think it will encourage more downward growth (longer carrots). I think that last season, too many nutrients near the surface encouraged the carrots (and some beets, too) to hang out close to the soil surface.

So I'll try again with my Danvers Carrots, but a new bull's in town. Meet Oxheart:

"Hard to find heirloom introduced in 1884. Uniquely shaped short, very thick roots are 5-6" deep by 3-4" in diameter and grow over 1 pound very rapidly."

I like that they're already short, so when I pull up short carrots, I'll know they were meant to be that way. Also, I'm a Taurus and feel an affinity for anything stubborn and purposeful. Those veggies look pretty fierce. My money's on them.

Corn came next. I almost skipped this chapter because I don't really want to grow any corn in the space that I have. Besides, I'm getting chickens this spring and 8-foot-tall rows of corn may just push my neighbors over the edge.

But let me show you the pictures that nearly changed my mind. Meet Japonica Striped Maze:"Blue Jade":. . . and "Strawberry Popcorn:"The jury's still out.

Have you ever heard of ground cherries? I came across "Aunt Molly's Ground Cherry" and now I can't think of a more perfect plant."Ground cherries were recorded as early as 1837 in Pennsylvania. This outstanding variety originated in Poland and is prized for its clean flavor. Fruits are ½ to ¾" in diameter and are encased in a papery husk that turns brown when the fruits ripen. Stores 3-4 weeks in the husk. Extremely productive plants have a sprawling habit and grow 18" tall and 24" wide. Excellent citrus flavor, can be used for preserves, pies, over ice cream or in fresh fruit salads. Starts fruiting by the end of July and continues until frost and a little beyond, extremely productive."

To summarize the rest of my notes:

Definitely going to plant eggplants. Looking at Florida High Bush ('cause they produce lots of sturdy little eggplants),Lista de Gandia (because they're gorgeous) and Thai Green (because I like to eat them).

As for lettuce, I'm totally confused. I wasn't happy with last season's variety (I picked up some seeds at a grocery store), and I don't know where to begin.

I'll plant as many peas as I possibly can, especially the Amish Snap Pea.

Ditto for sweet bell peppers such as Wisconsin Lakes.

Tomatoes, OMG. SO many. Mostly Brandwines, because they are divine, and lots of yellow pear-shaped miniature ones such as Beam's Yellow Pear Tomato.
I have to stop here or this post will go on an on and on and...

Bottom line: I'm staying away from the monocrop seed packets at the hardware store. This season, it's all about genetic heritage, hope and luck.