It is late February and seeds are poking up all over the neighborhood.
In our greenhouse, all of the spring greens are sprouting, sitting on heating mats and under lights to extend the daylight for a few hours on either side. The space glows in the evening, warm and cozy across the lawn. Other plants huddle underneath the shelf, waiting to move outside after the next cold snap. Last Thursday, I was carrying a plant light down the street at 8 AM when I caught a glimpse of our neighbors, immigrants from Guatemala, backyard. They have a small plastic greenhouse/cloche from Bi-Mart tucked into a sheltered corner. No lights—yet. Across the street, Tim has at least fifty tomato plants under lights, but you can’t see the glow because they are on the floor, tucked behind plastic curtains to stay warm. You just know that they are there, growing madly.
Last week, in class, we started the early greens for the school garden. Each student planted a six-pack. One half was mustard, kale, or chard. Then we sowed all of the 2019 weird lettuce seeds that were left behind by other garden planners. If they sprout, we will have lots of greens in the spring. This week, I will start the peas. Classroom starts hang out on my counter and thrive in the hot air of discussions and gossip. And a light, balanced on old textbooks from the 1960s, hovers over them all day long.
Hopeful gardeners everywhere.
