Garden says, "Snooze"

That's so funny. I didn't realize gardens came with snooze buttons. Weird, that.

And weird that their snooze buttons look like big annoying rain storms amidst days of stunning California sunshine when mine just looks like a giant silver-plated plastic button. Thankfully it doesn't dump an inch and a half of rain on my face when I hit it because that would ruin a lot of mornings. And call into question my choice of alarm clocks.

Ah, well, what do I expect really, when this is supposed to be the month for "showers" and next month is the one for "flowers" and the one after that is for "Jack Bauer".

Wait? It's not?

Sucks.

Here I thought Kiefer Sutherland was going to be magically appearing all through the month of June. In my garden. Sans CTU-wear.

Lame.

I guess I'll just have to settle for lettuce seedlings and hopefully some beans.

Which is what I meant to talk about anyway because last weekend I had to take a second run at the beds with new dry seeds because I'd theorized that the reason the germination rates in the beds was so piss-poor was because all this beautiful but damned rain had rotted my precious seeds.

Except that when I finally got out there, after having run another Sub-60 Test 10K (yay - attempt #2 this Sunday - cross your shit for me) thinking mean thoughts about the rain the whole time - TEE DAH - I couldn't find a single rotted seed in the soil.

Because the birds did it.

I mean, I think they did it. This is my new theory: Birds ate my seeds under the cover of rain and let the weather take the blame for it.

RUDE. And provoking of a "band" which I don't enjoy. DOUBLE RUDE.

Jerks.

Anyway, I reseeded plants that had particularly piss-poor germination rates and then reinforced their metal fence shields lest the birds go after them for a re-snack.

Specifically (germination rates):

Purple podded pole beans (33%)

African horned cucumber jelly melons (0%)
Georgia Rattlesnake watermelons (0%)
Mexican Sour Gherkins (0%)
Pickling cucumbers (.125%)

And then, because I am very cuh-lassy and, at the same time, was absolutely starving because of my run + planting 70 more grass plugs in empty spots in the front yard + re-seeding the vegetable beds, I drove over to the best place in Santa Clara county from which to procure a fine sandwich and then proceeded to eat it while sitting parked in the nursery's lot with my leg hanging out the driver's side window.

Because I couldn't NOT eat before plant shopping. And I couldn't NOT eat before I passed out. Ugh. It was a desperate moment.

You know this feeling. It's the one where you're driven to doing things you normally find abhorrent. Like eating in the car. Or using a gas station bathroom that requires a key tied to an old radiator.

But, as a fabulous friend informed me, if I want my tomatillo to produce tomatillos (which, obvi) I would need to get a friend for my single gal out there because OH - it takes two to tomatillo. Check.

So, apres-sandwich, I got a date for my lonely girl at home and then also didn't pass out in the super long line at the nursery where the woman in front of me was dragging a Japanese maple that didn't deserve such rough treatment.

People - get a cart. I'm just saying, dragging a plant with exposed roots across concrete and through a nursery is no way to go through life. Or grow a healthy plant. Or get the girl with the single tomatillo plant behind you to think nice things about you and your mom-shorts.

Meanwhile, some things haven't been ravaged by birds.

The potatoes have hit their 4 wheel drive limit and will be finishing out their growing season without further additions. I've determined that, when hilling potatoes, the hills don't get as tall as the 10 tires I'd apparently need to stack atop these in order to accommodate the plants' burgeoning height, so therefore they get to make do with 4 tires and just get to potato-makin'.

We'll see what that nets me in the way of potatoes. Bubba predicts we'll have at least one with, "Michelin" embossed on its peel. I predict that we will have potato vines drooping over the sides before a week's time has passed.

This took one month.

This is the lonely tomatillo who received a mate last weekend. I think they're in the awkward, "So what did you major in?" part of the relationship. 

The lettuce is being awesome, as always, and I am glad my one beacon of gardening hope didn't decide to flake on me this year. I look forward to acquainting you with your soul mate known as Maytag blue cheese.

These sunflowers are volunteers. Which explains why they're blooming and having a grand and flashy old time just outside the beds where nothing else is growing - because the birds didn't see them in their mad dash for the vegetable beds that were apparently labeled as a bird buffet.

Same goes for the nasturtium which are also growing, un-snacked upon, outside the beds and around my spying chair. Meanwhile the nasturtium in the beds has been victim to the same midnight bird feasts.

 

Here was a shocker: the first tomato blossom. 

I KNOW, RIGHT? WTF? 

Once again, these are Better Boys, which you should know from previous seasons are total champs. And, like last year, I am expecting the #1 bloom to produce a 1lb+ tomato. Expect ~along with me, now.

And that's about as disjointed an update as I'm ready to make today. Just know that I've sent in the benchwarmers to see if we can't get some points on the board. 

Does that make any sense? 

OK: I hope things start growing soon and OH YIPPIE it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Again.