Peas please!

I don't really remember how I decided to grow a sun-room garden.  It was probably related to the crazy-cold-snowy winter we have just survived in the Midwest.  I do know a real garden was never a real consideration, thanks to the bunnies that live in my yard.  My neutral feelings toward rabbits combine with my laziness to equate an aversion to planting food for bunnies.  So I decided I could do some potted garden plants in my sunroom, well out of reach of my kitties.  Cause I can actually throw them farther than I trust them.

Anyway, I went to Menards.  I wanted to grow some tomatoes.  I did some stellar, high-school-project-worthy internet research and was armed with the knowledge that tomato plants need about 5 gallons of dirt each.  I find this to be a little greedy, but my feelings seemed unlikely to change anything in this situation, I resigned myself to feed my tomato plants' gluttony for dirt.

The Plan was to leave with some big plant pots, some tomato plants, and some dirt.

What I actually left with was a seed bed flat, a bag of starter soil, and three packets of seeds.  As it turns out, you can't find tomato plants in northern Indiana in early April.  It's too early.

Already smarter.

So I planted those tiny little tomato seeds.  Was I surprised that they looked like the seeds you find in the tomatoes on your sandwich?  Yes I was.  Does this make any sense?  No it doesn't.

I also plants some snap peas.  The directions said the peas should be "direct sown", not started and later transplanted.  But I had no place to direct sow anything, so I planted them in the seed bed flat, too.  I mean, it's an art, not a science, yes?  Here's what it looked like.  I realize that this is not an interesting photo, but I take pictures when I'm proud of myself...

Water and wait.  And the magic begins.  Have you ever grown something from seed?  It's like watching a miracle.  I know that science can explain it, but for me, the explanation takes nothing away from the magic of watching something that seems dead come to life.  Life pops out of the dirt.  I think it explains why you don't often run into an atheistic farmer.

A few days later and my peas, by far faster than the tomatoes, were ready to graduate to big boy and girl beds.  Happily, my green-thumb-friend Megan happened to be coming that weekend, and she was willing to help.  Everything in life is better with a friend along for the ride.

We headed to the store.  Cause buying dirt isn't weird for the rest of the world.  The prices of the containers were insane.  Like, $25 each.  And I would need, oh, maybe 10.  Luckily, I came up with a solution.

Disney Princess to the rescue!!  I bought a kiddie pool.  It was $13.  Please note that it says, "A dream is a wish for every princess."  This nonsense leaves me hoping that line's a poor Chinglish translation and not Disney's intention.  Anyway.  Process pictures...

Am I using a serving spoon as a trowel?  Yes.  Am I feeling happy?  Again, yes.  As is Megan, in her stance of victory (pictured here with slotted spoon).

Our finished project.  Yah, we planted our peas in two concentric circles.  Were we considering staking the plants?  Um, no.  Well, I should speak for myself.  Megan may have been, but I wasn't.  Oops.

But never fear!  A couple weekends later, as the plants reached heights of a foot or so, on the porch with Dad and Sue and Sara, we came up with a great staking plan.  Using my smarty-pants phone pictures, Dad's tape measure, my estimating gestures, and our awesome mathematical skills, we figured out how much wire fencing I would need, and Dad cut me the piece.  He formed it into the right shape for me and I carried it home to The Fort.  If fit perfectly.  Shazzam!!

You're amazed, right?

Look at those beautiful peas!  I can't wait until I get to eat some yummy-lishous snap peas right from my sunroom!