V is for Victory Garden

It's funny. Back in February, I was kicking around the idea of starting a blog and phrases like "victory garden" and "gentlewoman farmer" came to mind. Mostly, because I'm an absolute geek for history. Also, because I had decided that come June, I would leave my full-time job to pledge allegiance to motherhood. So, I started plotting out my garden, selecting seeds, companion charting (yeah, I buy into that), ruminating over what was successful the last three years and what flopped. (My beloved patty pans would be out of the rotation because I was done having dreaded vine borers devour my dreams... and vines.) It would be a jury rig garden this year, even more so than years prior. Done on the cheap since I would be leaving my primary source of income. Little did I know just how scrap and scrape my garden was going to have to be.

I scored some pallets from a friend of mine and made sure they had the appropriate stamp markings to be used for growing food. Some pallets are chemically treated, and therefore not suitable for use in the garden. There's a great resource here that helps you decipher what the codes mean: https://www.1001pallets.com/pallet-safety/

Before repurposing

Once I was sure they were fine to use, I set to work

prying off planks to repurpose into raised beds. 

Our yard has a tendency to pool after a deluge, and I was tired of wringing my hands whenever

 we got a hefty downpour. It was laborious, but I get a real sense of my worth when there's a crowbar and a hammer involved. Double points for sledge. So, I started crafting my raised beds 

with the help of my cantankerous, semi-retired dad. He grumbles, but on the inside, he 

absolutely lives for this sort of thing. Tinkering, building. We got four beds out of two pallets. We also fashioned a vertical planter from another pallet, but I'll share that one in another post. 

 I ordered my seeds and some seed starting mix. All signs were pointing to an early spring and I was giddy for it. But then, a little birdie told me that we were headed for a pandemic. I listened. I got my ducks in a row professionally and personally, and last on the priority list was any provision I needed to buy, not cobble together for the garden. New fencing, an 18 cell seed starter (for $4.00 I wasn't going to pass it up). My seed starting mix had been ordered on Amazon. They canceled it due to overwhelming demands for other goods. Thankfully, I was still able to make a store run to pick some up. I already squirreled away empty toilet paper rolls... yes before toilet paper became a platinum commodity. Those were for seed starting on the cheap. Then, things went kinda south here in Pennsylvania. Epicenter, Pennsylvania, to be clear. Residing on the border of Montgomery County meant we were destined for quarantine. The governor shut down schools on March 13th and being the administrator of a small preschool, that was that. We were home.

Homeschool began with taking those empty toilet paper rolls and having my kids fashion little seed starter pots. My preschooler cut the tubes (good fine motor), filled them, and then he and his sister took turns planting herb and flower seeds.

We then put them in upcycled rotisserie chicken containers, creating mini greenhouses. You should cut a little vent in the top, and once all of your sprouts have come up, remove the lid. Also, be sure you thoroughly wash the container after you take the chicken out so it's good and clean for your seedlings.

About a week later, we put the big cells to use
and got the tomatoes and peppers started. The
tomatoes I'm particularly excited about. They're
Black Krim tomatoes and purported to have
a smokey flavor. I've never grown black tomatoes before. Frankly, any tomato I've ever attempted before has utterly crapped out. Clinging to faith, I'm telling myself it's because I didn't educate myself enough about preparation and care and that by gum, this will be my year! The peppers are nothing so flashy, but my son loves peppers so I don't care what they are as long as he eats them.

Quarantine, social distancing, lock-down, bare shelves, hoarding, citizens in masks and gloves just for a trip to the grocery store. It quickly became apparent to me that my garden would indeed mean and symbolize much more than I bargained for. I am going to have to grow more than I anticipated, not just for my family, but for my friends and neighbors as well. I was a senior in high school when 9/11 happened. Just a few days prior to the planes hitting the towers, I recall observing my homeroom peers and thinking with disgust, "Man, I wish something would make these people stand for the pledge." On September 12th, every single one of those seniors was standing with their hand over their heart. If you're old enough to remember the weeks and months following, you remember solidarity. You remember goodwill. We haven't seen anything like that since. Until now. It's been almost 20 years since America came together for each other. So growing a victory garden, in the traditional and not just the sassy and reverent sense of the term, has become a reality. I don't know what the next few months holds for our country. But if I can tap the roots of something old fashioned and decent, I aim to do just that. We have a legacy of perseverance in this country. That's precisely what I hope to cultivate this season. Wanna grow with me?