It took all winter to come up with a decent garden plan, but at this point, it’s mostly gone to hell. It happens every year, though this year it’s comical.
The tomatoes are in the general vicinity of where they were planned to be, as are the peppers and summer squash; there are fewer of them, though. The lettuces, greens and roots are in their allotted beds, but they’re not really organized as they should be: some are planted in rows, some are broadcast, some are planted “square-foot-style”. I made a second planting of peas, I’ve doubled my beans, and I’ve planted cucumbers where I have no trellis. I have way too much parsley, not enough basil, too many peppers, too few onions.
This year, gardening is about mood and impulsive creativity. Or creative impulsivity.
I may be my own worst enemy, but nature is a close second. The cabbages and corn were sowed according to plan, but only half of the cabbages germinated, and those that did were nibbled by rabbits; many of the corn seeds were dug up by a raccoon. My red oak leaf and lolla rossa are patchy, and my mustard is being skeletonized. It’s also been the driest spring in my gardening history.
Oh, and my toddler raked away half of my radishes. (Every garden needs a fairy.)
BUT. . .
My tomatoes are stellar! My beans, chard, cilantro, carrots and squash have all germinated beautifully. My oregano survived the transplanting, my mesclun is delivering daily, and the peas are climbing high! I found some well-rotted compost from last year’s pile, and I’ve removed the shims, cans and jugs from the garden. It’s not even June and already it looks like a productive plot.
And today, for the first time in three years, I’ve planted melons. They are close to the house this time, so I can keep an eye on them. I will succeed.
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