Divide and Conquer
One of my many hobbies is gardening. Like woodworking, sometimes I have success with it and sometimes not. More often than not, I "get by" with a middling array of vegetables and flowers. Even though I'm not always guaranteed success, I do enjoy it. There's something about working in the dirt, raising your own food (even if it is just a handful of beans), and getting close to nature that nourishes the soul.
This afternoon, I did what I am guilty of far too often with all my hobbies--I got distracted from my goal and ended up worn out with little accomplished. It all started when I went into the garden to water my vegetables. As I walked by the tomato plants, I remembered that I had several more tomato seedlings that needed setting out. Unfortunately, there was no unoccupied spot in the vegetable garden for them to go. So I mentally moved plants around in my head to find a place. Okay, I could move the rosemary to the bed outside the garden fence, freeing up room for at least one tomato plant. But then the tomato would be next to the green beans--a "no-no," according to the vegetable gardening experts I read online. (I guess it's something like having a neighbor who has loud parties. You'd just as soon they never open the door.)
Well, then, I thought, maybe I should plant the tomato seedlings in the "holding bed." Now, the holding bed is just as it sounds. I often put plants there on a temporary basis--keeping them in the ground but always intending to move them to a permanent "home" when it's ready and I have the time. The current occupants of the holding bed are several daylilies and a somewhat ragged azalea. I plan to move the daylilies from the holding bed to another bed in the front yard, but I have to add more soil amendments to that bed first. I haven't had time to do that before today, and I certainly didn't have time to do it now. So, the holding bed was out.
My next thought was to plant the tomato seedlings outside the fence in a vacant bed. This bed started out to be a border to keep the grass out of the vegetable garden. We removed the grass and placed steel edging between the yard and the bed. But although we tried to plant some shrubs there once (also transplanted from a "temporary home" elsewhere), they never survived. Too much water, too much abuse, and an unprepared bed. So, for the last year or so, the bed has been clay dirt topped with pine mulch to minimize the mud.
If I moved the tomato plants there, I rationalized, they would have plenty of room. But it would take lots and lots of compost and soil amendments, and again, I certainly didn't have enough of those on hand or the time to do it today.
Frustrated by my lack of progress, I decided to walk around the yard to search for a more suitable place for the homeless seedlings. As I passed the flower beds at the foot of the deck, I was overcome with shock. My purple coneflowers, which had been a nice, full, and lush spread of plants last season, were truly a life-threatening tumble of massed stems and leaves. The mutant plants had so multiplied in one year that they had already consumed my poor gardenia behind them and were threatening the salvia. Something had to be done. And, of course, it had to be done RIGHT NOW.
Still dressed in my good capris and sandals, I headed for the garage and a shovel. Within minutes, my sandals were covered with dirt as I thrust the tool into ground, stabbing at the roots that bound the plants together. Shovel by shovel, I carried the separated bundles to . . . where? Where could I put them? The only place was--the clay bed. Now, I realized I had to work fast. I pushed the pine mulch back and attacked the hard-packed soil. It was a nightmare. No wonder those shrubs died. As soon as I had dug up one section, I trekked to my compost pile with the shovel. (Why I didn't get the wheelbarrow and fill it up all at once, I don't know. I think in my mind, I was still just moving a couple of tomato seedlings. Why did I need a wheelbarrow?)
About 20 shovels of compost and 1 1/2 hours later, I finally had six purple coneflower plants transplanted. And the tomatoes were still where they were. If my husband hadn't arrived home just then, I'd probably still be out there in the dark, trying to find a place for them--or responding to some other needy plant that grabbed my attention at the moment.
Hopefully, both the vagabond tomato seedlings and the transplanted coneflowers will still be alive tomorrow morning. And when the sun comes up, I will be happy that at least ONE task has been completed--that is, until I look at the huge hole in the old coneflower bed that now must be filled. Shovel, anyone?
This afternoon, I did what I am guilty of far too often with all my hobbies--I got distracted from my goal and ended up worn out with little accomplished. It all started when I went into the garden to water my vegetables. As I walked by the tomato plants, I remembered that I had several more tomato seedlings that needed setting out. Unfortunately, there was no unoccupied spot in the vegetable garden for them to go. So I mentally moved plants around in my head to find a place. Okay, I could move the rosemary to the bed outside the garden fence, freeing up room for at least one tomato plant. But then the tomato would be next to the green beans--a "no-no," according to the vegetable gardening experts I read online. (I guess it's something like having a neighbor who has loud parties. You'd just as soon they never open the door.)
Well, then, I thought, maybe I should plant the tomato seedlings in the "holding bed." Now, the holding bed is just as it sounds. I often put plants there on a temporary basis--keeping them in the ground but always intending to move them to a permanent "home" when it's ready and I have the time. The current occupants of the holding bed are several daylilies and a somewhat ragged azalea. I plan to move the daylilies from the holding bed to another bed in the front yard, but I have to add more soil amendments to that bed first. I haven't had time to do that before today, and I certainly didn't have time to do it now. So, the holding bed was out.
My next thought was to plant the tomato seedlings outside the fence in a vacant bed. This bed started out to be a border to keep the grass out of the vegetable garden. We removed the grass and placed steel edging between the yard and the bed. But although we tried to plant some shrubs there once (also transplanted from a "temporary home" elsewhere), they never survived. Too much water, too much abuse, and an unprepared bed. So, for the last year or so, the bed has been clay dirt topped with pine mulch to minimize the mud.
If I moved the tomato plants there, I rationalized, they would have plenty of room. But it would take lots and lots of compost and soil amendments, and again, I certainly didn't have enough of those on hand or the time to do it today.
Frustrated by my lack of progress, I decided to walk around the yard to search for a more suitable place for the homeless seedlings. As I passed the flower beds at the foot of the deck, I was overcome with shock. My purple coneflowers, which had been a nice, full, and lush spread of plants last season, were truly a life-threatening tumble of massed stems and leaves. The mutant plants had so multiplied in one year that they had already consumed my poor gardenia behind them and were threatening the salvia. Something had to be done. And, of course, it had to be done RIGHT NOW.
Still dressed in my good capris and sandals, I headed for the garage and a shovel. Within minutes, my sandals were covered with dirt as I thrust the tool into ground, stabbing at the roots that bound the plants together. Shovel by shovel, I carried the separated bundles to . . . where? Where could I put them? The only place was--the clay bed. Now, I realized I had to work fast. I pushed the pine mulch back and attacked the hard-packed soil. It was a nightmare. No wonder those shrubs died. As soon as I had dug up one section, I trekked to my compost pile with the shovel. (Why I didn't get the wheelbarrow and fill it up all at once, I don't know. I think in my mind, I was still just moving a couple of tomato seedlings. Why did I need a wheelbarrow?)
About 20 shovels of compost and 1 1/2 hours later, I finally had six purple coneflower plants transplanted. And the tomatoes were still where they were. If my husband hadn't arrived home just then, I'd probably still be out there in the dark, trying to find a place for them--or responding to some other needy plant that grabbed my attention at the moment.
Hopefully, both the vagabond tomato seedlings and the transplanted coneflowers will still be alive tomorrow morning. And when the sun comes up, I will be happy that at least ONE task has been completed--that is, until I look at the huge hole in the old coneflower bed that now must be filled. Shovel, anyone?
posted by Tif at 10:03 PM
1 Comments:
Bring your shovel to Maine. I have some work for you. Also, can you replace the cabinet doors in the kitchen?
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