Apparently, it's time to start planting seeds if you have a greenhouse. Well, we do, thanks to a third building project for my husband, following the chicken coop in 2008 and the garden shed in 2009. Which is why he has declared the summer of 2011 a No Building Summer. He thinks he's going to golf and fish but there are just a few little things that need to be done around this big yard of ours...
"It's time to start seeds in the greenhouse," I said to my husband the other night.
"Funny, I was just thinking that the other day," he replied, which tends to be his standard reply, if you want any insight into how well-matched we are. I am the ideas person in this relationship - Wouldn't it be nice to have a greenhouse? - and he makes those ideas, if plausible, a reality - Look what I built for you, honey.
With all the snow we had last winter, we couldn't get to the greenhouse in time to start seeds in April; then the rains in May and June kind of took the planting wind out of everyone's garden sails. So this year, we are planning to make proper use of our sturdy little greenhouse.
I love spending time out there; it's so quiet and peaceful. Wasps built a nest in it last summer and I wouldn't let my husband destroy it; it was rather soothing to be inside, tending to tomato and lettuce plants, and my clematis (gone "into storage" for the summer because of the renovation) while the bees buzzed. Since we spent most of last summer living at my mother's summer home, I'm looking forward to more days and longer periods in the greenhouse from now on, and to inspiration for writing to strike me as it often does when I'm concentrating on a task, like washing dishes or shaving my legs or digging in the gardens (it's only in the bathtub that I have trouble writing the thoughts down). Not that I need an excuse to buy a notebook but it's time to find the perfect greenhouse journal.
I'm not sure, though, what seeds to plant. My husband is the vegetable man, I'm in charge of flowers. Perhaps another clematis, some phlox because I need more of those, and the wild and delicate cosmos that being me such joy every summer. Perhaps I'll just rely on the usual method: stand in front of the seed packets and grab every one that says "You need me!".