The Only Education Within My Price Range

A sunny, hot, early fall day has arrived on the property, and I’m in the conservatory, AKA the greenhouse, as usual, sweltering but also enjoying the sauna-like atmosphere that the late morning creates. The ventilation fan is running full blast, attempting to stabilize the temperatures.

Beside me, the seeds are loving the heat, germinating extremely quickly. Last week I started seeds that may turn into the earliest crops of next spring: Cerinthe, orlaya, bupleurum, and snapdragons. They may overwinter, or they may succumb to the cold. It’s an experiment! On the same folding table with rabbit poop trays that comprises my makeshift grow benches, I also have a late planting of sweet rocket, dianthus, campanula, and foxglove that all tragically died from a failed seed-starting attempt back in August. As usual, my own impatience is to blame. I added a new brand of compost to the seed-starting soil, realized it was full of giant clumps of bark, but used it anyway. What would have taken maybe 20 minutes to sift out the big pieces turned into about 600 seedlings dying, including the specialty pansies that I only had a couple of seeds of. Oops. A critical learning moment!

When seedlings are tiny, their roots can’t work around large pieces of debris like rocks or bark the way larger plants can. They need super fine soil; otherwise, there’s nowhere for their little roots to go. That regrettable decision cost about $50 worth of seeds and several hours of work. But worst of all, I may not have my favorite spring flowers for next year—campanula and foxglove. I’m attempting to correct this with a late fall planting of these biennials, but because of their growth cycle, they may not grow large enough to flower next spring. We shall see. Another experiment!

As fall approaches, many of the large florists and flower farmers are beginning to offer their workshops. Oh, how I long for a chance to learn from expert growers, especially one who is practically a neighbor aka Floret! All the dumb problems like this one could be cured by that workshop. It might even cure me.

I daydream about flipping through that textbook, the way some people daydream about Sydney Sweeney. It looks so good, so perfect. The way they tease me with tastefully out-of-focus images of the pages so I can’t quite read the text even if I zoom in as much as possible. It’s romantic photography, charts, and lists. Ugh, I love lists. I would do anything to read those lists. I have even scoured the dark corners of the internet for that textbook—coming up empty. Also the way people scour for photographs of Sydney Sweeney, I'd imagine.

And that workshop might cure me. I might actually frolic in a field of flowers that I grew, and actually sell them, and also not get burned out or make massive mistakes!

Just kidding—I know all of that will still happen. For example, every single seed-starting instruction and seed packet on the planet says to use fine soil. I really am the one to blame. 

More than anything, I am just a young peasant working in the fields and gardens with big dreams. Every dollar goes back into the farm, scraping by. Someday I hope to afford gorgeous ranunculus corms, attend flower workshops, and purchase a fabulous collection of peony roots. But that's not my path at the moment. Nevertheless, I shall trudge forward and try my best to enjoy the journey of learning things the hard way—the only education within my price range.