Growing Ambitions

Despite the deep freeze, harsh winds, crusty mountains of plowed and blown snow, ice clogged paths, the layers of wool, polar fleece, thick socks and tight cowls, I am trying hard to avoid falling into the category of people who, by the end of February, simply give up, break down, and finally bitch about how fed up they are with the weather.  I bought this bed and I’m trying to lie in it, albeit with my down comforter tucked firmly under my chin, without a peep on how miserable one can be after weeks of icebox conditions.  But my silence doesn’t mean I’m uninterested in some local climate change.

Yesterday I took the truck out to run a few errands and found it drove on its own power to a new shop in White River Junction called White River Grow Pro, a hydroponic and garden supply store. When the loud diesel engine shut off, I climbed out, walked in and was suddenly swept up in the glow and heat of a large white box suspended from tracks on the ceiling that glided back and forth over a small field of robust, green, happy, warm tomato plants.  This was no simple fluorescent light fixture jerry-rigged by a hack.  This was state of the art: Sun System Hard Core Ballast and Sun System Yield Master six foot reflector with an Ultra Sun large Edison bulbs.

“Home Depot, eat your heart out. I don’t need your oversized garden section, I have to have this system now, and I know just where I’ll put it.”

Below the tracking heat source, in a large black tub were three rows of black buckets each filled with white pebbles surrounding spongey blocks that looked like wet foam rubber from which the sturdy green stems rose straight up for nearly three feet, spreading out their lush leaves and small buds. Water gurgled from a web of plastic tubes and I could smell the green colors.

The owner approached. He must have been all too familiar with my type because he carefully, slowly steered me through the lighting choices from high priced to low, in a foreign language of wattage, rays, amps, and balusters dimmable and otherwise.  I couldn’t keep the choices straight and pricing seemed hard to follow once you considered the add-ons and all-in-ones.  It didn’t matter.  I knew and he knew I’d be buying something.

For two years in a row, I’ve planted seeds in pods, heated them on pads in the basement, and either fried or drowned the fledgling plants in a cold frame made of a glass door on top of hay bales because I started too early, lacked patience, and didn’t respect the clear directive of Marty, our savior of all things on the hill.  “Do not, repeat, do not plant anything in the ground until after Memorial Day weekend.” That’s a hard lesson to put into practice when you’ve started your seeds indoors three months in advance.

I had to break the Grow Pro spell. “I have time,” I told the owner.  “I have time and I’m not going to plant a single seed before April 1.” I repeated this statement three times during the light fixture tour, not for his benefit but to commit out loud to myself, that the credit card was not coming out.  If I bought a grow light of any kind today, death would be the only outcome.

I veered toward the rack of seeds and the owner moved behind the counter. He knew he’d done his job well and because he had to be a fine gardener, he surely had the patience I lacked.  As I scanned the packets of vegetable seeds, noting there wasn’t one I didn’t want, he explained why he carried this local variety. I must get out of here.

I pulled away from the packet rack and approached the counter to thank him for the tour. His friendly face said it all, “you’ll be back.” And I replied, “I’ll be back.”

I got home and headed to the basement to figure out where the outlets were, what table would be best, and which ceiling beam would hold a track.  Another Polar Vortex is due in tonight, but that’s okay. I’m fine. Bring it on. I’ve got work to do.

Peggy