When your life revolves around outside activities, the number version of a year doesn't always apply.
Yesterday, Phoebe, Ruben and I re-began our plantings. About a month ago, when it looked like we wouldn't get any Winter, Phoebe and I put seeds in the ground. Nothing fancy, just some root veggies and broccoli, the idea being that they would pop up by the time of the next rain; but what came first was maybe ten days of freezing mornings, so no luck.
Now, with February flying by, we buckled down. On Sunday, I purchased flats of cabbage, bok choy, onions, leeks, and collard greens, and two days ago we put down our first three rows. Phoebe, being five, can do a lot more now, and was carefully planting and patting down with me. Even Ruben, who'd been fussy that morning, was downright chipper and well-behaved (crazy for a sixteen-month old).
I'm nervous as heck that the menace that was the slug will return in force now that we no longer can turn them into eggs (via duck ducts). I've got some old oyster shells lying around from our time with the birds, and I may pulverize them even more, and sprinkle them around the plants, but I must do something, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
Further afield, the greens are in full force on the Delta. In fact, if you get out there right now, you may find some amazing mustard greens with just-about-flowering tips. They look like broccoli raab, and they taste wonderful. Another couple of weeks and it'll be bitter-city out there among the mustard, although I've noticed that the radishes have yet to flower so much.
To me, really, February is the New Year. Last year's hunting seasons end at the end of January, and planting for early varieties begins now. Waterfowl are in full force on the Delta, decked to the nines in their mating plumage. Fishing changes, and we start to gear up for some pre-spawn action in March and look for big storm runoff to set our catfish spots afire. The days even start to feel a bit longer. Although we only really get cooped up when storms pass through, it still gives me a sense of cabin fever knowing that everything is going to start to pop really soon.
Lordy, I wouldn't stand a chance living in a Northern clime.
|A crummy picture of my first planted bed this year... The Sun is just too bright here in California.|