I haz baby chives!

Well, something has to take my mind off the fact that the trash folks have yet to pick up the trash on my corner from the Mayor’s Spring Clean TWO WEEKS AGO.  Ahem.  Anyway….

Planted some seeds.  Figured that either the birds would eat ’em, or that they wouldn’t grow (my thumb is more black than green, let’s be honest).

chive seedlings

But, tadaaaaaaa!  I see growing things that are green and happy (and, apparently, anthropomorphic.)  See?  Sure, they look like 98-pound-weakling grass sprouts, but soon they will be bunches of (delicious) adorable chives!!!

I’m already dreaming of baked potatoes, chowders, vinaigrettes….  But I’m really just psyched that I was able to throw down some seeds and get them to sprout.  My parents were big into gardening, and by that I mean we grew just about anything you can grow in our 1/3 acre backyard when I was a kid.  Pumpkins, grapes, peaches (in Maryland), corn, tomatoes.  Let’s just say the first time I had to buy groceries when I was out on my own was an eye-opener.  And I must have sounded like a perturbed Italian grandmother; “this?  THIS you call a tomato?  This is a rubber ball, is what this is.  Tomato, pah!”  I was in rare form that day.  So anything that will prevent me from mocking produce at the local grocery store is a big deal for me.

Plus, I do love me some chives.  Seriously, how cute are they???

basil maybe?
Basil? Maybe?

I also planted some basil.  Unfortunately, they don’t seem to be sprouting up as awesomely as the chives have done.  In fact, I think the big green sprout may be a weed.

Hope springs eternal though.  Constant vigilance!  And perhaps all my staring and breathing on it will turn them into healthy strong (pesto) plants.  Hey, plants need CO2.

(Yes, I talk to my plants.  They get lonely sitting out on the deck.  After a while it must get tedious to hear nothing but “hey baybee, one more drinky… hey, hey, HEEEEEEY!” coming from the bar around the corner.  So I do what I can to uplift and inspire.  I’m a giver.)

I will “need” to do more plant shopping though.  I have a hankerin’ (for a wagonwheel…oops, sorry) for a Dusty Miller and something-or-other to plant in a planter by the front door.  Which would also have me shopping for a planter by the front door.  I’m thinking stone, hip-height or so to match the rail height, and just big enough to tuck in a corner by the mailbox.  Good luck with me dragging a stone pot that big up the stairs.  But we’ll bust that stoneware when we get to it.


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