The Fink Farm Dirt

My first gardening experiences were in northeastern Oklahoma. There, the gardening season ended when the tomatoes quit producing. By then, there was a nip in the air. The zinnias were stained brown and crispy. The nasturtiums were shriveled and starting to be hidden by falling leaves. Crisp, juicy apples were filling the bins at the local grocery and it wasn't pleasant to hang around outdoors unless you were moving -- fast. My parents not being natural gardeners, we never did much seasonal clean up either. My parents were great believers in letting the winter snows and spring rains do the work of beating down the dead stalks. Then in the spring, you could start digging and turning the old under to make room for the new. So now, living in California where winter is an abstract concept, I'm ignorant about winter planting. I've heard of winter wheat, but have no inclination to plant Fink Farm with wheat. Cleared for winter planting We got the garden cleared down ...

The first year that Fink Farm was in operation, we devoured Mel Bartholomew's Square Foot Gardening .  A 10-foot by 12-foot plot isn't much.  We pegged off one-foot measures on two adjoining sides, and rolled some pebbled pavers into position to give us places to stand amongst our soon to be thriving garden. But then things started spinning out of alignment. For starters, it became clear that running string across the dirt in one-foot increments was going to create one nasty arrangement for digging on any scale at all. All I could envision was a broken ankle from hopping over all that string.

The first year we tilled Fink Farms, I input into my iCalendar all the planting dates and when the first harvest could be expected according to the seed packets. Nothing grew as expected. Sowed seeds eschewed seeking the sun. Dozens of seeds produced two sprouts. Sprouts moped about unresponsive to their seed package PR. This is Southern California.  Planting "after the last frost" is not a functional instruction. Heat settles in like a yenta for a cup of tea and gossip. [We're still trying to grow cabbages, which those in the know call "cool weather" plants.] Gardening feels like a race against the sun at this time of year. My potting soil has been long gone.  My seedling pans like empty.  And the guilt mounts . . .