|Posted by Val Enders on May 29, 2012 at 11:20 PM|
We’re a desperate lot, us women. Spring is finally here, and we are more than ready for the annual planting season. We are like the wildebeests of Africa, who brave the crocodiles and fast flowing Zambezi River, in order to get to the lush spring lands. It’s been so long that we’ve seen anything green, we’re positively ecstatic as the rhubarb makes its appearance, and we practically scream with joy and hyperventalate at the first sign of a flowering tulip.
I’m lucky this year. I’ve got my “foot in the door” so to speak, and I have already gotten a major start on the growing season. The terrific thing is I didn’t have to do a thing. I yanked open my pantry door the other day, and reeled back in surprise. Holy dipping Dina! What a shock! Tired of waiting for spring, the tatters had made the decision to “let ‘er rip”, and had started the reproduction process early. They had been there awhile, I must admit, but I kid you not, those potato shoots had fought their way right through the plastic bag, and were starting to get intimate with the cereal boxes on the third shelf. Those sprouts, gnarly and pasty white, were twisting and turning, and they could give Jack’s beanstalk some serious competition if they ever escaped. That bag of onions must have gotten the “full steam ahead” signal from the spuds, and they had commenced rallying the troops for an invasion. Gangly green onion tops were climbing out of their predecessors, ready to compete with the tatees and soup cans for territory in the pantry which, by the way, was starting to look like the “Little Shop of Horrors”.
The refrigerator was already a greenhouse gone amok. The garlic bulbs were forcing long green appendages out of the crisper, encouraging them to further their quest for world dominance. I debated planting those tubers in a pot on the windowsill, but the last time I did that, we had so many fungus gnats we couldn’t see each other across the table. In the bottom drawer, the veggies were ahead of garden schedule. The carrots had lanky leaves protruding out the large end, and the roots were grasping out for a toe hold, in order to branch out in search of a suitable habitat. Those carrots belonged in the circus, since they could bend in every direction without as much as a crack. They were quite the contortionists. I stared at the inside of the fridge, and decided on my best course of action. I closed the door gently, reached for my purse, and headed out to the car. If I hurried, I could still make the plant sale at the Big Greenhouse. Those petunias were calling my name and I already had a head start on the veggie end of things.
Now I only wish I could grow plants as good outside, as I can in the pantry and refrigerator.
Categories: Editorials published on Northern Star