Tough Love

We just had a couple little squabbles over the tomato plants on this cloudy and cold late Sunday morning. First, David asked if he could shut the windows in the spare bedroom (otherwise known as the nursery -- for plants, that is) because he "didn't want them to get cold." I argued that the whole point of leaving the windows open is to let them experience the cold as a way of preparing them for their outside home -- in two weeks (for some experimental "volunteers") or in three weeks (for the bulk of the plants) or in four weeks (for the ones who will be planted at the "proper" date). David must've forgotten that we have left the infant, nurturing stage of plant-guardianship; now we need to toughen them up to face the cold, cruel world.

Our second disagreement occurred when David showed me two plants, both the same species (we think), but one has no main suckers growing out of the middle. (I guess plants can be infertile, just like people.) David asked, "Should we throw it out?" and I shrieked (in my usual calm way), "NoooooOOO!"

Here's where I am a softie. I know we'll have to "weed out" the losers and plant only the ones we can be relatively assured will produce fruit (because that's the whole point of all this, isn't it?), but I'm just not ready to do that yet.

In other developments, we can see the garden from our living room couch, so we were able to spy a squirrel digging brazenly in the beets! David ran with the speed of Hermes and scared the bejeezus out of that creature.

Where are the cats? Why can't they guard their garden properly? (And why can't they learn to use the paths instead of rolling around in the peas or plopping down in the spinach?)

Ah, the cats! As I type this post on the computer, I can see Finley peeing in the garden, right smack in the spot where we will plant more herbs this week. Yuck.

I can't blame the cats really; the soil's been turned over and it has such a nice, rich texture. Not that I have any interest in making it my bathroom.