Ah, blissful sun, how I've missed you. If I stay at my desk, with the sun blinding me and causing funky reflections on my iMac monitor, it feels almost like summer. In fact, my favorite chunky sweater from Gap men's department (circa 1995) is uncomfortably warm. Sadly, though, my little bit of pretend summer will end in a few minutes—it's time to head outside to water the plants in the greenhouse. It's windy. It's 37 degrees. Sorry, northern friends, I know I shouldn't complain.
Only 41 days until spring. Whew.
Thankfully, seeds save my sanity during frustrating February weather.
February kicks off the seed starting frenzy at our home. While it may seem a little early to start warm weather plants, it's my business. My fabulous, I'm-the-luckiest-girl-in-the-world-business. And because I'm growing 160 varieties of heirloom tomatoes, 40 varieties of heirloom peppers, and 60+ varieties of herbs and heirloom flowers...it's time.
While you probably don't need (or want) to become an extreme seed starter, growing a few plants from seed is a lovely way to combat seasonal affective disorder, get kids excited about growing healthy food, or try some new, unusual varieties of vegetables or flowers that you can't find at the big box stores. Why settle for a round, red tomato when there are more than 7,500 varieties?
Plus, how can you possibly resist all of those beautiful seed catalogs crammed in the mailbox, promising lush gardens if only you can survive these bleak winter days?
So, while it may seem a little like bad business sense to share seed starting tips, since I own an organic plant business—I just can't help myself. You need to grow something.
Now.
It will make you feel so much better. I promise.
First, you'll need a few supplies:
Seeds. (And a few words about seeds...) Everything I grow is organic, heirloom, and non-GMO. What exactly does that mean? I buy seeds from companies that are committed to using pure seed—seed that has not been genetically modified nor chemically treated. Heirloom plants are open-pollinated, non-hybrid varieties with history. While there are varying definitions of heirloom, many gardeners apply the term to plant varieties more than 50 years old.
Heirloom plants tell stories. Many seeds traveled with immigrants to America, who brought along the seeds of their favorite foods. Many heirlooms are native to the U.S., with seeds saved from family favorites and passed down through generations. Some have traveled the Trail of Tears, providing an edible history lesson. Heirlooms don't originate in a lab.
Hybrids are grown for marketability. The blemish-free, symmetrical, red tomatoes you find in the grocery store year round are typically hybrids: thick-skinned to endure the rigors of shipping, bred to enhance shelf life—and perfect, round globes to add visual appeal to consumers. Heirlooms are grown for flavor. Heirlooms tomatoes are red...and yellow...and purple, pink, orange, striped, odd-shaped, large, minuscule, sweet, tart, fruity...and even white.
Have you ever seen a white tomato in Publix?
Sadly, many heirloom vegetables and fruits have vanished—bred into extinction through hybridization. Part of my mission—and the goal of many seed-saving organizations—is to ensure the continuity of heirloom species.
Two of my favorite sources of organic, heirloom seed are Baker's Creek Heirloom Seeds (http://rareseed.com) and Seed Savers Exchange (http://seedsavers.org). Both organizations feature an outstanding selection of heirloom, open pollinated, organic seed. They're also just really nice people. Please check out their seed selections.
You also need...
Seed starting mix. I know, I know...we all started seeds in Dixie Cups filled with dirt, placed on our kindergarten classroom's windowsill, and miraculously—they grew. Soilless seed starting mix, though, is a more dependable medium for starting seeds—particularly some of those seeds that are a little finicky. Comprised of peat moss, vermiculite, and perlite, seed starting mix provides a good, clean, safe first home for your babies. The mix is light, allowing your seeds to easily sprout. It's also sterile and disease free—as long as you use a new or well-cleaned container for your seeds.
Water. (Plus watering can and spray bottle.) The soilless seed mix is very dry, and it's best to mix it with water prior to filling your container due to the high surface tension. Once you've moistened the mix well, you'll have an easier time watering your seeds—the water will absorb more rapidly. Because I start a lot of seeds, I use a plastic storage container to mix seed starting mix and water. It also makes it very easy to fill trays and store the mix.
Containers and covers. The number of seeds you want to grow depends on the type of container to use. I grow a lot of plants—thousands of plants—so I use trays with 128 cells. You might not need as many cells. Or you might want to embrace recycling and try planting your seeds in newspaper pots (www.organicgardening.com/paperpots). Whatever your need, make certain that your container has drainage holes—and that you have a second tray or container underneath to catch excess water.
You can purchase seed starting trays at any big box store. The kits include a cell tray for the seeds, a bottom tray, and a cover to retain the moisture. Another option is to use what you have available at home. Disinfect used containers thoroughly to ensure no pathogens remain, which can cause damping off of your seedlings. Many people wash used pots or trays and place them in a 10% bleach solution (1 cup bleach, 9 cups water.) I don't use bleach, but I use extremely hot water. Really hot. Hurt-your-hand hot. It does the trick.
After you've cleaned your container and moistened the seed starting mix, fill your container (or cells) approximately three-fourths full of seed starting medium and firm the mix into the cells or container. Now, you're ready to sow your seeds.
Not all seeds grow equally. Some need light for germination. Some require dark. Some seeds want a period of cold stratification, while others might like an overnight soak. For instance, lettuce needs light for germination, so sow the seeds on top of the medium—but don't cover with a layer of soil. Other seeds require deeper planting. Read you seed package carefully to determine the best planting method for your seeds.
An incredible resource is the book, Seed to Seed by Suzanne Ashworth. While not a beautiful, sexy gardening book filled with lush photos, it's an amazing reference for the specifics of starting a wide variety of seeds. It's been a permanent fixture on my desk for the past three years.
Once you determine how your seeds need to be sown, it's time to get busy. The size of the seed determines how many seeds to plant in each cell. For tomatoes, I'll typically sow three seeds per cell. Many gardeners pinch out all but one seedling, but I separate them later when I transplant into pots. (We'll talk about transplanting next time.)
I've been planting lots of tomato seeds. After I finish one variety, I cover the seeds with a pinch of mix...
...and label the row to make certain I keep the varieties separated.
When the tray is filled, I mist the tray with water to help the mix and seeds settle.
Place the cover over the tray, or secure plastic wrap on top of the container to retain moisture.
You'll notice condensation on the plastic, which is good—your seeds are moist. Do not allow your seeds to dry out. Mist with a spray bottle to keep moist as needed.
Light. (Lots of.) While some seed varieties like dark for germination, as soon as seedlings emerge, they need a light source. A good light source. You don't need to spend hundreds of dollars on an official grow light kit. But you do need a source that will provide ample light—and that can adjust to meet the needs of your growing plants.
My grow lights are basic shop lights from Lowe's, fitted with full spectrum daylight fluorescent bulbs. I think the fixture and lights totaled about $15. The lights attach under the shelf that hangs above a former workbench in the basement, and the adjustable chains allow me to provide close light when the seedlings are small—and raise the light as they grow.
The most important thing to note about light is this: you want to avoid leggy seedlings. If your light source is too far away, your little seedlings will stretch to find the light, resulting in weak, leggy stems. Instead, you want healthy, sturdy, stocky plants. With good light position and enough exposure per day--most seedlings like 16-18 hours of light—your seedlings will have a strong start.
Heat. Bottom heat can speed along germination—but again, check your seeds to determine the temperature at which they germinate. Peppers and tomatoes, in particular, benefit from the added warmth of bottom heat. While I purchased two large, seed starting heat mats from a growers' supply company, you can also provide bottom heat by placing your seeds on top of a refrigerator or other appliance that generates a bit of warmth. Avoid using heating pads. They are not waterproof and could be hazardous.
Patience. Seed packages provide great information about germination time—but be patient. And be vigilant. Keep your seed tray moist and don't allow it to dry out. Also, be careful not to overwater. Once your seedlings have emerged, remove the cover from the tray and continue to water. The first leaves on the seedling are the cotyledon—the “seed leaves.” When the first set of true leaves appear, it's time to transplant your babies into nutrient-rich soil. Stay tuned for the next post about transplanting your babies...
Is It Time Yet? For the ideal time to start seedlings indoors, you need to know the approximate date of the last spring frost in your area. Below, you'll find the number of weeks needed to start various crops. To determine when to start your seeds, count backwards from your last frost date, depending on what crops you want to grow. (An asterisk* indicates a cold-hardy plant that can be set out 4 to 6 weeks before the last frost.) You'll also find a great tool here to help you determine when to start your crops: http://www.almanac.com/gardening/planting-dates. Just plug in your zip code, and the tool calculates your crop planting schedule based on your zone.
Here's a general guideline for seed starting, based on last frost date:
12 to 14 weeks: onions*, leeks*, chives*, pansies*, impatiens, and coleus
8 to 12 weeks: peppers, lettuce*, cabbage-family crops*, petunias, snapdragons*, alyssum*, and other hardy annual flowers
6 to 8 weeks: eggplants, tomatoes
5 to 6 weeks: zinnias, cockscombs (Celosia spp.), marigolds, other tender annuals
2 to 4 weeks: cucumbers, melons, okra, pumpkins, squash
So, think about your favorite produce that you're missing during these cold, dreary months. Pull out your seed catalogs and daydream about the delicious meals you'll prepare this summer with fresh-from-your-garden veggies. Then, order some seeds, and let spring into your house.
It's been more than a month since my last post. Did you think I left for the weekend—and just didn't return?
We all know how crazy December is. Add in a couple of family birthdays, school parties (who thought it was a good idea to be room mom for both kids' classes?), as well as a little one with the flu—and it's easy to put everything else on the back burner. Plus, I'm now in the throes of my post-holiday sickness...an annual ritual of coughing, sore throat, and headache that I fend off until after Christmas every year. Yippee. Please pardon my muddled thoughts.
So, here we are, a month after the Carolina Farm Stewardship Sustainable Agriculture Conference, and as excited as I am to share with you insight into all of the amazing sessions and interesting growing strategies that I learned, I'm afraid I have some housekeeping to do first.
My desk.
There's a hazard to owning a home-based business. Everyone thinks that my work space is their play space. Kristen searches obsessively for chicken breeds, coop designs, and rescue pups on my computer. The last Google search on my iMac? “How to get your parents to let you have a sleepover.”
Seriously.
Michael plays Poptropica while I need to write. Peter just joined Facebook, so now when I want to check on my friends, I often end up posting as him—because he's left his account open.
Or he's online, searching for sailboats.
Here's the thing: we have a computer in the living room. With Internet access. Peter also has a laptop. With wireless.
It's not even the lack-of-access that bothers me. It's the amount of stuff that is left on my desk. I need a fairly clutter-free space when I try to write or work, otherwise I tend to feel mentally disheveled. It's not that I'm a neat freak (I know Peter is laughing out loud about that)--I just need some breathing room.
So, in an effort to reclaim my work space and my computer, I thought I'd share with you—in no particular order--what I discovered as I cleaned my desk:
Three paper towels.
Four plastic bags.
1 pair of horse earrings.
Essential Herbal Wisdom.
Encyclopedia of Herb Gardening.
A back scratcher—one of my favorite gifts, chosen with care by 5-year-old Michael at the school's Santa Shop.
My nieces' Christmas lists.
Washing tips for the kids' Christmas Pjs.
A coupon for Hanna Andersson.
The receipt for the kids' Christmas PJs. (What was I thinking?)
A file with documents about my parents' estate.
Tyler's Christmas list (which somehow printed in a 2-point font size. Who knows if he really got what he wanted?)
The CD of the kids' Christmas pictures, taken by the fabulously talented Jessie of Smilin' Down Photography. Isn't she great? (And patient. I'm not sure what I was thinking, bringing light sabers to the photo shoot, but Jessie rolled with it.)
To continue...
“Care and planting of your ginseng seeds and rootlets.” The most expensive seeds I have ever ordered. Please grow, seeds.
A box of snowman Christmas gift tags.
“Questions to ask when reading a book.” *
*Note: According to this list, there are 25 questions to ask when reading a book. Now, maybe I'm crazy, but if my kindergartner looked for every contraction, compound word, blend, antonym, and punctuation mark while he was reading The Time Warp Trio, I can assure you it would take us a full month to read the book. Plus, somehow, I can imagine it would kill his love of books. Maybe we could reduce the list to a few questions, like #24: “What was your favorite part of the book? Why?” But that's just my opinion.
Onward:
“Individual Summary—Universal Screening in Reading, 5K.”
Word cards.
Business card for Tradd Cotter, the mushroom guru from Mushroom Mountain. I promise, once my desk is clean, I am going to write about Tradd's workshop for growing mushrooms. He is a mushroom God.
Tyler's checking account bank statements. Trust me—if you're looking to begin a life of crime in 2011, don't pick Ty's account to hack. You'll find more money under the sofa cushions.
Sky Top Orchard brochure. In a fit of locavorism prior to Thanksgiving, I realized I needed to replenish our supply of local apples. My quest entailed an hour drive to North Carolina, where I stocked up on several gallons of apple cider and about six enormous bags of various, lovely North Carolina apples. After chatting with the owner about the pros and cons of heirloom apples, I pulled out my debit card to pay. Guess what? “Check or cash.” After spluttering apologies and asking where the nearest ATM might be (way down the mountain), that incredibly kind man handed me the brochure with the address for Sky Top, and just asked that I mail him a check when I got home. Then he helped me load all of my goodies into the van...in the freezing rain. Truly, there are good souls in the world. (And yes, I mailed the check the next morning.)
Back to the desk...
A letter about an organic gardening presentation I'm making on Monday.
An IRS filing statement that I need to take to Warptek, Peter's company. (Yes, it was done.)
An “All About Kindergarten” folder that I use to contain all of the many tools sent home by Mikey's teacher.
The menus from “Outstanding in the Field” and the “Hub City Farmer's Market Farm Dinner.”
Receipt for my excessive order of garlic.
Box Tops for Education.
My mom's obituary.
The business card from the guy who just rang the doorbell, wanting to clean our gutters. (No thank you.)
Instructions on growing mushrooms.
Oh my gosh, another receipt for garlic! Ack. (Well, at least, it's all planted.)
Uh oh. A rebate offer. Need to look at that one.
Hmmm. A homemade Valentine with a picture of Michael—but the signature says, “Love, Kristen.” Intriguing.
A seed order receipt.
Newsweek. From September 20.
Passionflower seeds. On a paper plate. (It was a seed saving endeavor.)
“Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Let Me Rent Braveheart.” A little background: Braveheart is a horse that was for lease at the stables where Kristen takes horseback riding lessons. Here's her list:
Convincing, isn't it? (We're not leasing Braveheart.)
“Welcome to a Great Year in Fourth Grade.” Check.
A stack of Garden Delights orders from last spring, along with last year's inventory spreadsheet, to determine what to grow in 2011.
Warm Crab Parmesan Dip, Raspberry Crisp, and Tomato Salsa recipes.
A receipt for Mikey's soccer program, which he didn't attend due to a broken arm. $65 well-spent.
School Year Calendar.
Checkbook.
iPhone case, which I never use—but should—since I shattered my first phone.
Yippee! A Barnes and Noble gift-card, which I received from their customer service department after spending one hour and 13 minutes on the phone with them, trying to get a Christmas shipment corrected.
My tattered Webster's Handy College Dictionary. I just like having it close, even if I haven't used it in years.
Michael's MAP scores.
A friend's phone number.
“A Very Merry Kidz Bop.”
At Blachard's Table. This is the cookbook that accompanies one of my favorite books, A Trip to the Beach, by Melinda and Richard Blanchard. If you're ever in a rut and dream of making a change, A Trip to the Beach is incredibly inspiring. FIVE STARS. (My own rating.)
A postcard from my in-laws. Bep and Peter (my Peter's mom and dad) know how to be retired—they're always traveling, visiting friends and family, or just exploring. I want to be like them when I grow up.
Barnes and Noble receipts.
Love notes from Mikey.
Seed catalogs. What a surprise.
Seed to Seed by Suzanne Ashworth. While not a beautiful gardening book, Seed to Seed is a wealth of information about—take a guess—starting seeds. Trust me—not all seeds grow under the same conditions. Light, dark, stratification, scarification, germination rates, heat requirements—it's all in here. It's a permanent fixture on my desk.
A reminder to renew my Garden Delights business license. That's kind of important.
The New York Times Book Review. Love it. December 26.
Five Webkinz tags.
A parking receipt from the CFSA conference.
Two extremely elaborate drawings of pirate ships, complete with cannons and guns. Can you guess who the artist is?
An expired ETV member card.
Eye drops.
A beautiful tulip tile from Turkey, the hotly contested Christmas present at our book club Christmas exchange. It was stolen twice to end up in my possession, and it will be hung prominently in our new kitchen--whenever the kitchen is actually done. (Thank you, Kathy!)
A piece of paper with the number “8”--which was my draw in the Christmas gift exchange.
An angel ornament. Shoot. I knew I'd find something else after the Christmas decorations were put away.
A Lichtenfelt Nursery gift card! Yippee!
Paintbrushes, from my fabulous attempt at making sugared pansies. I think those will go to the kids' art supplies.
A seashell.
A keychain. The key chain isn't much to look at, but when you hold it up to the light and look through the viewfinder, there is a tiny picture of my dad mid-golf swing.
My camera. My lovely, fabulous new camera. I WILL learn how to do more with it than shoot on automatic.
My iPhone.
Dust. Lots of it.
So, there you have it. My desk is now (somewhat) clean, my mental state is a bit more organized...and when you find that your desk is messy, you can feel so much better about yourself since you now know what constitutes a true mess.
Sadly, as I tackled this project, I've realized that the majority of things on my desk were, actually, my things.
Yeesh.
Now, I have no excuse...except that I'm sick...for not writing.
Thanks for sticking with me as I cleaned my desk. Next time, I promise—I'll try to write something worth reading.
