Today’s Picture – Status for my 2016 Patio Garden:

It has been close to a month since planted my seeds.  After my cucumbers sprouted, I split the sprouts into 3 separate pots.  The plants in pot #1 (the pot on the left) are still sprouts.  They have not grown at all.  The plants in pot #3 (the pot on the right) sprung up immediately, but their growth seemed to have stalled.  The plants in pot #2 (the pot in the middle) are thriving.

I believe i know what the problems are with the plants in pot #1 and the plants in pot #3.  The problem with pot #1 is probably due to issues with the transplant of the sprouts.  I botched the transplant.  I lifted the sprout out of the original pot with my small hand shovel.  I, clumsily, dropped the shovel and the soil and the sprouts scattered everywhere.  I tried, clumsily again, to gather the sprouts and the soil together by scooping everything into my hands and moving them into the larger pot.  I do not think that my salvaging efforts really salvaged anything.

I believe that the problem with pot #2 is all about the soil that i chose.  The soil in pot #2 was the same soil that i used for a squash plant that i planted  in 2014.  I thought the soil would be okay to re-use.  As i look at the result i realize that my choice of re-using the soil was not such a good idea after all.

Back to the Days of My 1966 Garden:

My Soil Report Rated Poorly

It was a Monday in early May 1966.  The weekend was over.  It was time for school again. Fourth grade was such a drag.  Especially on this day.  First, my teacher posed the question to the class:  “Who do you think is the best student in the class?”  This would be my first life lesson in humility.  I had the best grades, i was class representative of the 4H club.  I never caused any trouble in class.  Surely, it would be me, i thought.  So did many other class members.  “Jerry”, was the overall response.  Even those who did not like me at all chimed in as well.  “No.  It is not Jerry”, Mrs. Warren responded immediately, to both my heartbreak and to my surprise.  “It’s Henry Cromartie”, she said, continuing.  I understood, even at my young age.  My school had just finished a major construction project.  Construction on brand new buildings had just finished.  All students would be in the new building in the next school year.  The move procedures had already begun in the current year.  Henry helped Mrs. Warren pack boxes everyday and he carried the boxes to the storage room where they would await final transfer to the new classroom building.

If the early morning disappointment to my young boy ego and pride was not enough, the after-lunch disappointment was the icing on the cake for bruising my self-esteem.  The 4H lady was back and she had our soil reports.  We assembled in the cafeteria.  I sat in the front.  I was the class representative and I was very proud.  I could not wait for the report.  it would make my day end very well –or so that is what i thought.  She called out the top 10 students, whose soil report rated the highest from tenth place to first place.  I did not hear my name from place number ten to place number five and i became excited.  I felt that i had made it into the top five.  I winced when Henry’s report made fourth place.  Finally, third, second place names were called.  At this point I began to be concerned.  Finally Michael Stewart’s name was called out for first place.  My heart sunk down, down, down.

The assembly was dismissed and everyone went up front to receive their own soil report results.  My soil rated as one of the worst samples that were submitted.  Later, after a not such a good day at school and long after arriving home, I showed the report to my uncle when I returned home.  He asked me, “Where did you get your sample from?”  I said “in the back yard, on the other side of the wood pile” –opposite side of where the garden was plant.  “You should have selected your soil from the garden area”, my uncle said.  “…that soil is treated with lime and manure”, he continued.  “You should have taken your sample from there”, he finished as he walked away.

Dejected, i sat.  That was 1966.  Seems like in 2016, i still haven’t learned much about the folly of taking shortcuts.

See you at next week’s blog.

Jerry’s blog about growing up in the rural south is based on many actual events and many ways of life.  Many of the people appearing in Jerry’s blog are somewhat fictionalized and names are fully fictionalized