Sprout babies, part 2

Since my last posting, I've transplanted my lettuce and radish sprouts to larger paper cups.  I've also killed off two more lettuce sprouts.  At this rate, I'm not sure if I will have any lettuce to harvest.  I need to order railing "saddle planters," such as the two pictured below since I can't find them locally.

picture courtesy of Gardener's Supply Company

I just started my pepper and tomato seedlings today.  Exiting possibilities...

What's in your garden?

Sprout babies

I've got babies! Onion, radish and lettuce babies, that is.  They are pictured below, although it's not a very good picture.  I have six onions.  I started with six radish sprouts, but only three survived.  I started with twelve lettuce sprouts, but only six survived. I'm so glad I followed the advice of a magazine article and planted more than I need on the premise that about half will die off before I even got truly started.  They like to hang out in this sunny window.

sprout babies

a close up of a radish sprout

another radish sprout on the left and a lettuce sprout on the right.

I intended to plant the lettuce in my front flower bed, hidden among the ferns and the hydrangea because they would get sublime morning sun and afternoon shade--just what lettuce like.  Planting them in the front flower bed would have been my one act of subversion against our HOA rules that stipulate that all food gardens are to be grown in the backyard.  

Now, I'm reconsidering that plan, however.  If I plant them out front, I'm afraid the deer would eat the lettuce since they chomp on my hydrangea leaves as it is.  (Our suburban deer are bold.) And recently, we've noticed that something has been digging tunnels in the front flower bed and along the foundation wall of the side of the house.  I fear that animal--maybe a mole?--is already nibbling on the roots of my hydrangea and the tulip bulbs on the side of the house.  Why add lettuce to that animal's diet? 

Instead, I'm gonna get those flower boxes that mount on the rails of the deck and plant the sprouts in there. Next, I will start the seedlings for tomatoes and peppers.  And herbs, especially mint for sweet tea and basil for the caprese salad.  These seedlings should be ready to plant outside by Mother's Day.  

What have you planted in your garden?

Algebra? Geometry? Oh my!

A few months ago, I attended a parent meeting at Elias' elementary school. Six Title One teachers discussed the county's recent transition to the Common Core Curriculum. That night's meeting specifically focused on math.  Essentially, they were reviewing with the parents what math concepts they would be teaching the first graders and how they would be teaching those concepts.

These teachers patiently explained that Elias, my first grader, among other students, would be learning the basics of algebra and geometry.  It's better to start them early, they insisted.  The teachers also mentioned algorithms. They sprinkled their conversation with this word as if I should know what it meant.

I'm a college educated woman with a bachelors of science degree.  I had no freakin' clue what an algorithm was or how Elias was supposed to understand.  But I was too embarrassed to ask for a clarification, fearing I would be the only parent in the room who didn't understand.  The fear and awe that my first grader was going to be smarter than me by the time he got to the fifth grade loomed large in my heart--my bachelors degree be damned.

Here comes the flashback: In the second grade, my math teacher was named Mrs. Rose. She was an African-American woman with buck teeth and there was a gap between her two front teeth. She tottered around the classroom in four inch heels because she was a petite woman (even with the heels on).  She always wore very sensible, professional pant suits in subdued colors--navy, brown, or black.

She was teaching subtraction. She wrote a problem on the chalk board--something like this:

                                                               2001
                                                            - 1996

Mrs. Rose expected us to solve the problem in our head. We were not allowed to count on our fingers or use a scrap piece of paper.

I remember raising my hand to let her know that I didn't understand.  That I couldn't do it.  She explained the concept about borrowing from the neighbor number and carrying the one and so on.

I still didn't understand. Or maybe it wasn't that I didn't understand per se.  Maybe I understood it in theory, but couldn't do it in my head without counting on my fingers or writing it down on paper.  (Quite frankly, I still use my fingers to figure out addition or subtraction problems. Forget the multiplication tables. I've since forgotten those.  I digress.)

Anyway, I didn't understand.  I don't know how many times she explained it.  I don't remember. But what I do remember is this:  eventually, Mrs. Rose asked "What are you? Stupid?"

Yeah, she said that.  Out loud.  In front of the entire class.

I shrank in my seat.  I told her I understood when I didn't.  All these years later, my eyes fill with tears remembering this incident.  My gut  twists with shame.  Embarrassment.
 
Mortified.  Still.  After all these years.

This memory whooshes back to me while sitting in a tiny chair designed for a first grader, listening to six Title One teachers say things like "we want your kid to learn basic concepts of algebra, geometry. Algorithms. The Common Core curriculum will better prepare your student for life beyond school."

Yeah, sure I understand.  What am I? Stupid? 

Those same Title One teachers went on to explain that it is vitally important to not influence your child's attitude toward learning. If you hated math as a kid--don't let your kid know it because they will mimic that behavior.  They will learn to hate math too.

Yeah, sure I understand.  What am I? Stupid? 

Every time Elias struggles with his homework, I have to bite my tongue--literally--to prevent myself from agreeing with him that math is stupid.  Instead, I tell him that he must use his brain to puzzle out the answer.  That it's okay if he doesn't get it right the first time.  Erase it and keep working it out until he gets the correct answer.  Even if it takes 100 times.

That word stupid--it's banned at our house.

It's that time of year again--seed catalogs

Okay, y'all.  Get a cup of hot tea--any flavor will do, a blanket, your seed catalogs and curl up on the cozy couch and start shopping.  Or daydreaming.

Y'all know that I love my seed catalogs.  Johnny's Selected Seeds.  New this year is the Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds catalog.  Pages and pages of glossy photos of vegetables and flowers.  All the possibilities.

That's really what the seed catalogs hold: possibility.  The possibility of growing your own nourishment in your back yard. Or in my case my deck.  

Photo Credit: adamr from freedigitalphotos.net

But the truth is I won't be buying many seeds this year since I have so many left over from last year.  My attempts at growing radishes, lettuce, and peppers failed last year.  I started too late with the lettuce. I didn't plant the radishes deep enough or in a large enough pot.  The peppers didn't mature.  I had minor success with the tomatoes.  I think I got about 8 good ones, but I started too late with them too.

All those mistakes don't matter, though.  I'll keep trying.  I've got a better plan for starting seeds courtesy of an article in Heirloom Gardener Magazine.  And this time around I will actually take the advice of my Aunt Jane.  Like it's really important to harden off your seedlings.

Starting in February, I will start the seeds for the lettuce.  Then in March I will start the seeds for the radishes.  April will be the beginnings of the pepper and tomato seedlings.

Ah, the possibilities.