I come from a long line of farmers on my father’s side of the family. They were a talented bunch of people who could coax food from the soil and I like to pretend that I received some of that DNA. And, as a result, I got sucked into buying a garden kit this year to start my garden from seeds.
This happened last year too. I get this notion that starting a garden from seeds is somehow more authentic and pioneer. So, I put the seeds into the soil-like stuff that expands when you add water (which may be the most exciting part of the entire process) and then carefully add the seeds one by one. They grow so happily and look like they’re reaching toward the light, which makes me feel weirdly proud in a demented way.
Then came the day that it finally stopped raining and the frost was over (and yes, that was indeed almost the end of May here in Michigan) and I could plant the cute little sun chasing embryonic plants. So I carefully dug holes, covered them with life inducing soil and watered them. They looked more like little sprouts for salads than little sprouts that would turn into big plants, but I forged ahead. And then they died. The end.
Well, okay, not quite the end because I went out and bought pre-grown plants, like I should have in the first stupid place. Who did I think I was? The Pioneer Woman? She confesses to being able to cook and homeschool at the same time (while raising animals and hosting a television show, of course). The only thing I’m confessing to is the fact that I can’t grow s*** from seeds and I like Sandra Lee and the Cake Mix Doctor way better than Martha Stewart. And, no, I don’t make my own macaroni and cheese.
Therefore I have decided that I have a semi-homemade garden. I let someone else grow the plants for their first few months and then I transplant them into my garden. All of the veggies, none of the sprout guilt, plus I still have time to blog. Who says you can’t have it all?