March Madness

Though I do not begrudge those who do, or even those who simply enjoy getting caught up in the collective fervor, I do not enjoy televised basketball in the least. (I just found out that my graduate alma mater, ole' pdx.edu will appear on the NCAA bracket for at least another five hours. Yikes!) No, for me the month of March marks a different sort of excitement. After months of playing the waiting game, I finally get to seed in preparation for the no-guts, no-glory main event--the Spring/Summer garden.

Let it be known that I am not a big risk taker. Even the lowest of stakes are often more than I can bear. So when I decided to try my hand at gardening for the first time, I stuck with transplants. I learned a great deal that year, including but not limited to the following:
1. Blisters and the importance of good work gloves
2. A really awesome Catwoman-style backflipping inversion during my yoga practice that became a dorky physical metaphor for trusting myself more and wussing out less
3. Soil is divine.
4. The real reason that my grandfather wore overalls
5. With skills that were accidental at best, I could grow food.

My life hasn't been the same since. That first Fall, my overall-wearing grandfather passed away, and I buried myself in the best possible form of diversion--learning. Mania really. I read every book on plant propagation that I could get my hands on at the library, and when I'd exhausted that resource, I went to the library in the next town over. I took it all in, and without the cramming or anxiety of my University years, I found myself sowing Heirlooms in the basement that March. Cautious as ever, I seeded three times as many plants than I had space or wherewithal to plant out. I figured that the majority of them wouldn't even come around to sprout, and that 1 out of 8 wouldn't be bad. Besides, from all of my new learning, I gathered that Heirloom varieties could be fickle. Here's what I learned last year:
1. If you seed 40 plants, you just might get 40 plants. I did. I think I have my grandfather's good sense of humor and grace to thank for that.
2. Always label your seedlings. If you think that you will remember what is what, you are wrong.
3. I should have kept better records, hence the blog.
4. I grow a damn good tomato.

That being said, starting from seed is not to be taken casually. It is one of the most thoroughly exciting and terrifying things I have ever done. It requires patience, attention and sacrifice. This time around, I'm taking this to new heights. No basement this year, and I wouldn't let Mark build the greenhouse for me that he wanted to. No, no. Just as The Roaring Twenties were the heyday of bathtub gin, 2009 will mark the year of Bathtub Veg. Yes, we have suspended a frame with adjustable lighting above the (empty) Jacuzzi bath. What's great about starting the seeds above the tub? Bathrooms are warm, and you can adjust moisture and circulate air at the drop of a hat. Or so it seems thus far. I am well aware that I may have lost my mind on this one, as I am forgoing nice comfy baths until the end of April for the sake of my seedlings. I guess being the Madwoman Gardener in March can't be half bad--as long as things pan out deliciously in August.