Hovering
So I wrote this post a week ago, and thus the actual happenings are long past. But I like it far too much to let it go without posting it, so here it is.
Hours and hours of planning, graphing, reading up more on the needs of some varieties then panicking a little and replanning; calculating, estimating, tallying-up costs and panicking again, and then replanning and recalculating again, are finally complete. I mean, there’s more to come, but the first big chunk of it is finished.
*click*
Hours and hours of planning, graphing, reading up more on the needs of some varieties then panicking a little and replanning; calculating, estimating, tallying-up costs and panicking again, and then replanning and recalculating again, are finally complete. I mean, there’s more to come, but the first big chunk of it is finished.
And now I am sitting at my little computer with three separate seed websites’ shopping carts full to the brim, with my cursor hovering over the “confirm purchase” buttons.
The dollar amounts following the “merchandise total” headings are nothing short of terrifying. As you go through the list of varieties that you’ve drawn up, you think to yourself, oh, a packet of seeds is only a couple dollars. Maybe this will be okay after all.
So you add more and more to your cart, until you see the figures and make a little squeak sound in the back of your throat.
That’s what I do, anyway.
Filling up 600 square feet of garden beds is not cheaply done. There’s seeds, of course, but then you must add the first-year costs of seeding flats, potting soil, shop lights (because we only have one solitary south-facing window in this house and I am planting 12 daggone flats over here), and then hoops and plastic for the low tunnels, netting, landscape fabric (eugh) shade cloth, mulch… And that’s just to get the plants growing. Eventually I’m going to need buckets, clippers, floral preservative…
This is the first purchase of this first real year of growing: seeds.
Many, many, many seeds. Like, biggest-purchase-I-have-ever-made-in-my-short-frugal-life many.
As I sit here staring at the screen I think it’s interesting how the slightest movement of my finger--a click--is what will determine the rest of my summer. Perhaps, dare I say it, the rest of my life. In this tiny movement lies all of my hopes and dreams for this first real growing season, all of my expectations for this business that I am starting. Once I click this button, there is no going back; I will have set myself up for a year of amazing beauty and success, or utter disaster. Probably a bit of both. And how it all goes may or may not determine whether I continue to pursue this venture in the coming years.
As I sit here staring at the screen I think it’s interesting how the slightest movement of my finger--a click--is what will determine the rest of my summer. Perhaps, dare I say it, the rest of my life. In this tiny movement lies all of my hopes and dreams for this first real growing season, all of my expectations for this business that I am starting. Once I click this button, there is no going back; I will have set myself up for a year of amazing beauty and success, or utter disaster. Probably a bit of both. And how it all goes may or may not determine whether I continue to pursue this venture in the coming years.
Am I ready for this? I think so. Heaven knows I’ve put my share of work into it already, although there’s backbreaking amounts of work ahead.
Well, ready-or-not, first planting is scheduled for next Saturday, and it’s already questionable if these buggers will arrive on time. Here goes everything.
*click*
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