Invasion of the Bean Sprouts

 Once upon a time, in my rocky twenties, I guess I told my husband that I reject instruction. "Follow directions? Directions are for unimaginative weaklings!" He reminds me of this whenever there's a particularly creative cooking mishap, knitting debacle, or undecipherable craft monster blanketing the apartment. When I declared to Todd our plans for a vegetable garden both eyebrows crept up his forehead, eyelids squinted, and his smile slimmed to a grin. "Really," he said, as if I were our 3-year-old son promising that he only knows how to put shoes on if there is a cookie in his mouth. As defensive as cynicism can make me, my rebellion operates in all directions. Not only will I not be told what to do, I wont be told what I cannot do. Operation vegetable garden full-steam ahead!

With enthusiasm like this, who needs planning! photo: Allison's worthless phone

      

Fast forward one week. Marrisa and I take the boys on a trip to Home Depot to pick up the beginnings of our supplies. In preparation, I printed some basic gardening facts, but as anyone with small children can attest, reading comprehension during daylight hours declines ten-fold after the your firstborn. Somehow while frogger-dodging the boys between tablesaws and forklifts, neither one of us noticed that container gardens require their own special soil and we instead bought 4 giant bags of dirt clearly labeled with an X over a pot. Not such a big deal, except Home Depot is about 2 miles away, neither Marrisa nor I have a car and we just schlepped 160 pounds of small human and of erroneous soil through 20 degree Queens freeway tundra--not to mention Lucas was mighty hungry and Sam had what can only be described as a runny nose through his eyeball. There was no way that soil was going back (We've since found use for said incorrect soil--perfect base for the mosquito repelling flower beds in the backyard! But more on that later).

The seedlings live in Sammy's sunny room. photo: Marrisa Senteno

I had scoffed at the little seedling pots and peat pucks at the store, considering it cheating, but next trip you can bet I bypassed the soil and loaded up the cart with these magical offerings.They had the Jiffy brand and I must say, every single seed that went into these little expanding soil wombs popped a lively sprout in about 36 hours. Sam and I were in awe, watching the babies elegantly bend their necks to the sun. My favorite part of gardening thus far is the surprise of each of the different sprouts characteristics. The tomato is ragged and pointed, the cucumber fat, round and fragrant (like cucumbers!) and the broccoli is precious, wobbly with itsy heart-shaped faces. Marrisa and Lucas came over to join the fun. They planted some peas and garden beans. While I noticed the bean seeds were on the large side, nothing could prepare me for what emerged... Giant, reptilian, monstrosities, upheaving big clumps of dirt, shucking their seed skins and rocketing tentacles blindly in every direction. For a brief ridiculous moment, I feared for the other plants, safely cradled in their own pods--maybe even my own family. It was such a violent affair, suddenly Invasion of the Body Snatchers made sense. Plants can be quite creepy. Well, these at least. Marrisa took these impressive photos of their arrival

Violently erupting from the earth! photo: Marrisa Senteno

 The cucumbers are eclipsed by the beans! photo Marrisa Senteno

 

Towering Bean Stalks. photo: Allison's lousy phone

  This is how they look today, measured against the oldest of the seedlings, the tomato. The beans, younger by 3 weeks are 4 times the size. Yowza. The problem with these little peat pellets I have noticed is they don't have the root room for bigger seedlings. The roots have creeped from the mesh binding and are scrambling for purchase. It's clear I have to repot them, and soon. I was hoping to keep the seedlings inside for another 3 weeks, which means I might need to repot twice. Dangerous prospect for such a clumsy gardener as myself. Good news is, now that there is promise of an "in your face" opportunity, I feel significantly more responsible for figuring out what the crap I am doing.

Sam and I have made a habit of checking out a kid gardening book and an adult book on our weekly library trip. This weeks picks were particularly great finds: Potatoes on Rooftops by Hadley Dyer  and Sugarsnaps and Strawberries by Andrea Bellamy. Both have very practical, beginner friendly advice for small space gardens. Click on the links to buy from Greenlight Bookstore in Brooklyn

The Death of a Lima Bean

I refuse to admit failure so early. It was really a machine that killed said Lima Bean. A tragedy of calamity, not neglect. Before we get to the incident let us first introduce the departed.

Lucas the Farmer
photo Marrisa Senteno


 

Under the care of Lucas, the Lima was flourishing. It soon outgrew its makeshift planter and Marrisa and Lucas brought it to my place to find permanent residence in a larger water bottle "greenhouse." Here's where my "machine" accusation gets rather shaky. I did not want to keep the Lima inside because I had read reviews of the specific organic potting soil we were using that warned of bugs. I realize that organic implies life and I am not necessarily bug-shy, but I certainly am not eager to intvite them into my tiny apartment. So I decided the Lima should live outdoors with the hearty Raspberry. We indoctrinated him without the recommended "hardening" phase. And, yes, it snowed 24 hours later. Poor Lima never stood a chance.

We test the pulley
photo Marrisa Senteno

Sam gives a dismal wave to the fallen Lima
photo Marrisa Senteno



  

photo Marrisa Senteno

My "machine" story might never hold up in court, but here it is...mostly because I am so proud of my super (albeit ineffective) pulley! I proposed to Marrisa that our farm should exisit on my tiny balcony. We do have access to a charming backyard space, but our yard is also the universal litterbox for all the rouge gangs of the Cats of Queens. I give them special title, because although I cannot foresee the future, these spectacular creatures are sure to make multiple appearances in our farming adventures. Also, I looked it up, and cat feces does not qualify as manure. Problem is, our balcony does not get sunlight until much later in the season, so we must start our plants in the backyard. What we need to move the plants from yard to balcony without the hassle of trucking them upstairs is a simple pulley machine. The very day I told Sam we needed to buy pulleys, we magically found not one, but two pulleys strewn in my back yard! Thank you random New York junk-heap awesomeness.We used some shepard hooks from other failed gardening attempts and built a transportation system. The Lima was the first passenger. It was not smooth sailing. Both of it's limbs suffered injury, requiring amputation. Today, two weeks later, I declare it the first casulty. I stand by the pulley, though.
It's usefulness is not yet known.

Raspberry Standing: Hopeful.

 

photo Marrisa Senteno

 

 

photo Marrisa Senteno

This Raspberry Bush was planted much too early but is muscling its way through this ridiculous New York City Spring fake-out. Already it has seen about 4 inches of snow. Our first trip to Home Depot, we began debating the relevance of actual-intended garden planters. Marrisa and I stood brainstorming what containers we might recycle from home, having coraled the restless boys in massive stacks of plastic bins when I had a revelation that there were several large water jugs just sitting on my balcony (also known as emergency zombie apocalypse water) that might make perfect pots. My husband had lovingly rented a water cooler during my pregnancy when I could not stomach tap water. The order came with 3 large water bottles a month. After Sam's infancy, we returned the cooler, but had amassed a surplus of full bottles. They served as great baby gates for a bit, lined up and anchoring furniture throughout our apartment, but as Sam grew they eventually migrated to the balcony. We cut off the tops, borrowed my brother's cordless drill (about the best thing ever created, as our two little farmers cooed "Oooooh, what's that?" to the whur and purr of a power-tool) popped through some drainage holes, filled with soil, and TA DA! Marrisa had the brilliant foresight of keeping the tops, which serve as protection--cozy individual greenhouses. I must say, the tops are probably the only thing that has saved this hearty fella.