By KAREN MADORIN
Warm March days triggered an eager urge to bury both hands in finely cultivated soil and plant seeds EARLY.
After my hubs cleaned last year’s stubble that shelters overwintering birds, a friend tilled the garden 'til it aggressively invited the planting of tomatoes, cantaloupes, cukes, and okra. As I strained warm, fine soil through spread fingers, I couldn’t wait to start this year’s growing season! The signals may have said "go." It didn’t mean nature agreed.
Though we barely missed seeding potatoes on St. Patrick’s Day, tidy rows waited to sprout by late March. We only needed rain.
As warm, dry days followed, I caved to the urge and started tomatoes, cukes, and cantaloupe from seed in the garden. A fellow green-thumb warned me this technique wasted time and money, but it seemed like a year to challenge Mother Nature to work from scratch.
Spending a glorious day soaking up sunrays, I plotted this year’s garden.
I focused on growing only foods both of us enjoy. That nixed bell peppers, carrots, radishes, peas, beans, zucchini, and beets. Though I’ve grown them for years, after the first harvest, the hens enjoyed the rest of the season’s pickings. Once our four girls aged out and retired to free range on a friend’s farm, that left little incentive to raise produce we don’t prefer.
On the other hand, we wanted cantaloupe, cukes, cabbages, potatoes, tomatoes, okra, jalapenos, and pumpkins to join existing garlic, asparagus, horseradish, and rhubarb.
By eliminating row crops, ample space remained for vines to stretch curly tendrils.
Last year, in free-style gardener mode, I packed plants so close, I couldn’t maneuver amongst tomato vines to effectively pick ripening fruit or control invasive weeds and grass.
Plan in mind, I measured distances between each freshly-seeded hill so I could easily monitor and address trespassers.
Next, I marked each site with rebar or skinny posts to identify where I buried those little seed packets of supposedly potent DNA. Practicing plan-ahead-gardener strategies, I formed reservoirs around each mound to capture anticipated nitrogen-rich moisture from the heavens. Optimistic waiting began.
Despite long-range weather forecasts predicting upcoming rains, they never arrived or they split and blessed others. Our garden lingered in a dry donut hole, dependent on city water. Though we water regularly, rain works better. After weeks of intense watching, potatoes sprouted and grew, but hills of cukes, melon, tomato, and okra seeds remained bare.
April showers never arrived, and May traded cool soup-weather temps and a few frosty mornings for March’s near hundred degree sizzlers. Not a single bowed leaf-head emerged from hope-filled hills.
Finally, a half inch spring rain inspired action. I raced to Tomato Creek Ranch to select flowers to brighten our deck. Yep, you’re right! I couldn’t resist as I walked past tomatoes, cantaloupe, jalapeno, cabbage, and cuke seedlings. I drove home with flower and seedling-filled flats. While our garden remained rain damp, I planted everything.
Mother Nature possesses a sense of humor. Those ridiculously delayed seeds sprouted, surrounding leafy starts I bought.
My husband relishes reminding me he told me to be patient. While he and Mother Nature chuckle, I optimistically intend to share cukes, cantaloupes, and tomatoes with anyone who can’t outrun me come August.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.