My 4-month-old daughter had just about reached the end of her patience for being in the bouncy seat on the kitchen floor.
Potting soil was strewn across the counter, mingling with the dirty dishes. Grimy old seedling trays were soaking in the sink. The kitchen clutter was pushed aside to make room for a pile of old seed packets, some old seedling labels and a big tray full of seed starting mix, all of which were shedding dirt and making a mess.
My husband was due home any minute and expecting to use this very space to make dinner before rushing out again.
And there I stood, frozen at the sink with my finger under the tap, waiting for what felt like years for the water to get warm. I took a deep breath. Life will never be the same.
Two years ago, when I was childless and carefree, I was so eager to grow my first vegetable garden that I started my seedlings a month early. It was a disaster, but that's not the point. The point is that there was a time when I was able to complete a simple task on time, sometimes even ridiculously early.
Now, post-baby, I am working off a "to do" list that dates back to December.
This is perplexing, considering the amount of time I've wasted surfing the Internet and streaming whole seasons of television shows on my computer. I have endless time for anything that can be done with a nursing pillow on my lap and requiring one hand or less.
I have done more garden reading this spring than ever before, but putting seeds in soil is a major undertaking.
Yet it's not impossible.
This year, I'm trying a new approach, based on advice from Carole Gura, my master gardener friend in Salisbury. Last year, she gave me a series of photographs showing her seed starting process step by step, with hand-written instructions on the back of each picture. Now that's my kind of gardening guide.
Rather than buying a kit with plastic trays and dehydrated soil pellets, as I've done for the past two years, I bought a big bag of seed starting mix and a little bag of milled sphagnum moss.
I cleaned a bunch of old plastic trays and filled them with the starting mix. Then I added warm water to the mix, planted the seeds, covered each little well with a layer of sphagnum moss, sprayed the moss gently with warm water and covered the trays. (Carole uses plastic wrap, but my old trays came with plastic covers.)
If that sounds neat and tidy, it's because I'm summarizing.
The real process was more like: Scoop seed starting mix into trays with paper cup; spill mix everywhere and leave it because I'm in a hurry; smile at baby and talk in a high-pitched voice in a feeble attempt to make this seem like entertainment; run water in the sink and stare at the clock while waiting for it to get warm; take a deep breath and try to avoid a meltdown.
My husband walked in just as the baby reached her limit. I picked her up, threw the cover over the warm, unplanted trays of soil, and tried to sweep a little sphagnum moss off the counter with my free hand.
After dinner, I got the trays out again and planted more seeds. When the baby went down for a late-evening nap, I planted more. When she woke up five minutes later, I stopped. When she finally went to sleep for the night, I finished misting the moss with warm water. When she woke up at 1:30 a.m. I was so wide awake that I considered going outside to dig some garden beds in the moonlight, but instead I just lay in bed thinking about the garden and how much I want to get done.
The thought that finally allowed me to drift off to sleep was that I had finally planted my seedlings. It may be a little later than I wanted to do it, but better late than never.
nnn
Julie Kirkwood is a freelance writer for The Eagle-Tribune. Her column, Yard Dirt, appears most weeks in At Home, Sunday North. She also keeps a gardening blog, Yard Dirt: Sharing Seeds, at www.eagletribune.com.
