I don't know if I've mentioned this here — and apparently I'm too lazy to use the search function — but this year I planned to plant a garden.
(This was before Michelle Obama started hers. I'm not saying she copied me, but maybe we're both plugged into the same culture zeitgeist.)
First, I thought a container garden was the way to go. (I've got limited space and I found this handy web guide, coincidentally done by a friend of mine.)
Then another friend of mine pointed out that I might not have as much light as I think. And he was right. After careful study, it looks like any one spot near my house will only get about four hours of light and most vegetables need a nice round eight hours.
So I signed up for a community garden at Shelby Farms.
While I was waiting for the master gardeners or the county or whoever to plow the community plots and then stake them (you have to know where to plant), I went ahead and started some little seedlings on my windowsill.
They sprouted and looked cute and sat there on the sill for a week or so (or more) and still no Shelby Farms staking (which is totally fine; it's been raining a lot). So no planting for my seedlings.
But last weekend, some of them HAD to be moved. They were growing out of their little beds. I was still going to do a small container garden anyway, so I planted them in my little containers, hauled them into the front yard and dusted off my dirty palms with a nice "Good job" to myself.
And then yesterday night, I came home well past dark and glanced at my containers to see ... nothing. I peered closer (and held up my phone as a flashlight) and all my previously cute, healthy seedlings looked raggedy and sad.
I checked them out again this morning and they looked even worse than I thought in the harsh light of day. It looked like they had been chewed up and spit out.
So, round one goes to the squirrels/chipmunks/birds/feral cats/neighbors. But, as Stephen Colbert says, you're on notice.
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