Perhaps I should just give up. I will forever have to buy my vegetables. If the apocalypse comes, I better be good friends with a farmer or two. I can cook. I can preserve. But don’t depend on me to grow.
Every year, I try to grow something in my huge backyard. Every year, it all fails. I’ve composted. I’ve planted in the ground, in pots, and this year, we went all out and built a raised bed. I bought good, organic soil to put in it. I researched and bought seeds for plants that love to grow in our autumn climate.
Things are growing. But according to the charts, some of what I planted should be nearly ready to harvest. But nothing is more than an inch high out there. The spinach is supposed to be ready next week. Yet they aren’t even at the “baby spinach leaves” stage. I can see the leaves without a magnifying glass, but gee.
Beets and cabbage are supposed to be nearly ready too, but it’s the same story. I’m confused about it, too. These tiny bits of life poked up a few weeks ago, but if they growing at all, it’s at a rate that can’t be measured. The cabbage shows the most promise, but that’s not saying much.
I’ll give them more time, sure. Like baseball, it ain’t over till it’s over. As long as there’s life, there’s hope. That kind of thing.
This is so discouraging.