February has been a grey, wet passing, the sun scarcely seen for weeks. With gloves drenched and smelling straight into the washing machine, it’s been time inside where possible, waiting patiently for germination, for pricking out, for potting on. But the seeds have seemed to feel this too, the endless darkness, and have been in no hurry to emerge. Weeks passed emptily, soil still and undisturbed.
The tomatoes came first, followed by a second sowing before much movement elsewhere. A single watermelon, now lost to transplantation shock, shot up from saved seed, washed out of a mighty slab sold by the kilo at our local Lebanese grocery. More of the seeds are just pushing through now, erupting out of the soil with their yellow, flat bills.
The lavender from the freezer has been slower than the first, but is becoming leggy on the windowsill now, waiting to be pricked out and join the others. The cape gooseberries need pricking out too, a dwarf forest of furry green leaves, with two seedlings sporting a happy tryptic of cotyledons. Apparently not uncommon in plants akin to tomatoes, my little genetic mutations will be nurtured as I hope for the true leaves to follow suit in threes too.
Two perfect kidney-shaped Eucalyptus citriodora ‘Lemon Bush’ seedlings have emerged from their grit, letting me believe I can smell their sherbet leaves already. I rub the basil leaves and smell something too, worried it was more Thai basil than Italian. ‘Queen of Sheba’ doesn’t give much away – it might have to become decorative. Perhaps thankfully, a falling plant pot saw to half the sowing, only a manageable little cluster of trapeziums remaining.
a year in the garden 