So after a trip to the local free compost, and an afternoon of trying to pick up really small seeds one-at-a-time, my containers are planted. I can’t tell you how exciting and nerve-wracking it is to have completed this. I’m terrified about what is going to happen next. I suppose, in order to explain my mixed emotions, I should start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). I have to decided, for your entertainment, to make this a multi-part series. Because too many humiliating things happened in my path to a garden to fit in one entry.
First, I must tell you how embarrassed I was pulling up to the compost pile. This is compost made by my local township from recycled materials, which is exciting because I literally don’t have a yard, so composting is nearly impossible for me to do (while keeping my roommates). The other exciting part, besides the fact that it’s organic, better for my plants, blah blah blah, is that it is FREE! As you will come to learn, I am cheap. So I detest bagged soil for it’s additives, but mostly for it’s price. Anyway, I pulled up to the pile in my little Camry, and see nothing but giant pick-up trucks with burly men shoveling compost. So picture me, backing in my Camry, pulling out my tiny containers, and shoveling daintily with my snow shovel (no one at my house had a shovel, so this was my best option). Needless to say, I felt like a complete priss, and I would have taken a picture for you all, but then I think they would have actually burst out laughing at me.