We’ve recently had a few storms and my lettuce dreams are under blanket of snow.

Snowy Side Garden


Yeah. Since last year was the first year we had a fenced in vegetable garden (we always grew in pots on the porch), I have NO clue when I can start planting veggies. I read and read that cold-weather crops can be put out early, and we go to the Winter Farmers’ Market and buy lettuce and broccoli they’ve grown in the ground under plastic. In January. January. I want that. So, Keith has been looking at ways to build me low tunnels – plastic domes around the beds in the side garden. He is the sweetest, I say I want it, he tries to get it for me.  (By the way, I must come up with a more clever name than “Side garden”, that is just sooo boring. Suggestions welcome!) If we can get plastic up in the raised beds out there (slightly more visible in picture below, still buried under snow), then I think we can plant things sooner.

Cast Iron Thingy

Remember I mentioned the tall cast iron thingy that we picked up at the side of the road sale? There it is. That baby was covered in peas last year. I would pick the pea pods before leaving for work with the intent to save them as a snack for mid-day. Look at me everyone, I’m eating healthy at my desk! I’m eating pea pods I picked from my garden! I’d eat them on the way in to work and arrive with a plastic baggie of dew. So much for an afternoon snack.

I think I’m going to grow peas on it this year again, but my past edamame failure still haunts me and I think I’m up for the challenge to try growing them again. A few years ago, I bought edamame seeds and started them indoors. We ended up with three plants and put them in a window box on the front porch when it was safe. I watered and fussed. I couldn’t wait for steamed edamame with a pinch of salt. Love.

When it came to harvest time, I brought the edamame into the office to show my friends. So proud. My friend T was the one who first introduced me to edamame at a sushi restaurant near the office. Showing her my homegrown edamame was a big moment. Another co-worker came in during the conversation and, when T boasted about my edamame to her, she asked to see. I held it up. It. One. One damned little edamame pod with possibly two sickly little beans in there, maybe. T said, “That’s it, that’s the whole harvest.”  We laughed like hell. It is true. I got one little edamame that wasn’t even big enough to steam. Bastard. 

Wait, shouldn’t I love everything that we grow? Even if I couldn’t boast about it, and we couldn’t eat it, isn’t that little soybean still a result of tender care, water, seacoast sunlight and plans for bigger things? Was that little edamame-that-could a test and if so, what kind of test? Could I love something that didn’t live up to my standards? Could I learn from failure, say “Tally Ho” and keep trying?

I went back to my drab grey cubicle and filed the little piece-of-shit-edamame in the garbage pail with pissed off inspiration – pissed at the little soybean for sucking so badly, giving me hope and then flicking me in the forehead for being such a silly girl. 

Yes, edamame this year. No doubt.