Half-planted flat of tomato and basil seedlings--the wicking mat waters the roots from underneath.

Half-planted flat of tomato and basil seedlings–the wicking mat waters the roots from underneath.

I’m struggling a little as I attempt to balance crafting my new memoir with other writing projects, plus finish carpentry, preparing for my first Write & Retreat workshop, and getting organized to break ground on my new little house.

Late one afternoon this week, I took a garden-break. I headed out to the garage and dug out a seed-starting tray and organic potting soil, and selected packets of tomato and basil seeds from a shelf in the utility room.

And then spent the next hour happily kneeling on the floor of my bedroom  ”greenhouse” area, the sunny patch by the 8-foot-wide sliding glass door,  filling pots with rich soil, and pressing seeds into each. When I finished planting, I watered the wicking mat in the tray under the pots, and plugged in the heat-mat that sits under the tray to warm the soil and jump-start germination.

The tomato and basil flat, ready to germinate.

The tomato and basil flat, ready to germinate.

Before going back to writing, I straightened up (a mite creakily) and stood smiling foolishly at my summer-garden-to-be. Which will include eight varieties of heritage tomatoes: yellow pear and silvery fir (both small and best eaten fresh), stupice (rich-flavored, delicious in soup), persimmon (brilliant orange and sweet), black krim (a beefsteak-type with a dark-green top), Pompeii roma (prolific and great for cooking), Cherokee purple (not prolific in this climate, but oh, the flavor!), and marvel stripe (huge and red with yellow marbling). Plus pesto basil. (Six of the tomato varieties and the basil come from my all-time favorite garden seed supplier, Renee’s Garden; the Cherokee purple and silvery fir come from Colorado’s own Botanical Interests.)

I planted one seedling flat, 40 pots in all. Five are devoted to basil (three seeds per pot potentially equals 15 basil plants–can you have too much basil?), which leaves 35 pots for tomatoes. At 2 seeds per pot, that’s 70 plants. I need one plant of each variety for my garden (actually, eight tomato plants is about six more than one of me needs, but as with basil…). Yup, I got a little carried away. Fortunately, my friends appreciate my tomato plants.

The shower/tub area in the unfinished master bath.

The half-wall conceals the shower-tub area.

On the house-finishing front, today was another work day with my wonderfully generous friends Maggie and Tony. Tony got me started on what is to me the most demanding of my projects: finishing the complicated shower and tub area in the master bathroom. We got two of the wall areas sheathed), and Tony tacked up the black rubber waterproofing membrane from under the shower area floor. So we’re ready for the next step, about which more in another post.

The tub is usable, but the walls around it need finishing; the shower plumbing is in the wall to the left.

The tub is usable, but the walls around it need finishing; the shower plumbing is in the wall to the left.

Maggie took on the project of varnishing the sliding doors for the master bedroom closets, which Tony had taught me how to hang on a previous work day. I have just two more doors to finish, and only one more piece of trim to nail in. I may someday live without an air compressor and pneumatic nailer in my back hall….

Another friend, farrier and art blacksmith Harry Hansen, came over with his son Ethan, bearing the hand-curved metal arches that will trim out the kitchen and entry doorways, the last two unfinished doorways in the house. Like the master bathroom tub and shower area, those arching doorways were my biggest creative challenge. I wanted to finish them in a way that would honor Richard’s love of industrial materials used as themselves, without making too big a project out of it (read: making it too expensive).

The front hall entryway with its curved steel arch and galvanized sheet in place.

The front hall entryway with its curved steel arch and galvanized sheet in place.

My solution was to use galvanized steel sheeting to line the jambs and to commission Harry to hand-beat curving steel edging into arches that would hold the sheets in place. Two of the four steel arches (there are two per opening, one on either side of the doorway) are now in place, and they look stunning.

After today’s frenzy of project-completing, I think I’ll take it easier tomorrow. Although I do have some drywall to screw in, and that last piece of door trim to nail up…. Both of which, of course, will keep.

What’s most important, I remind myself frequently, is not how quickly I finish any individual project or piece of a project. It’s doing the work with love. That I learned from Richard.

Fringed sage (Artemisia frigida) feeling the drought in my front yard “unlawn.”

I feel like I should begin with a public confession:

My name is Susan.

I am a neglectful gardener.

The Southwest is in a several-year-long drought. Last year brought just over two-thirds of “normal” precipitation here, a dismal 6.7 inches of moisture. In the first two months of this year, we’ve dropped to less than half of normal, receiving a whopping one-third of an inch so far.

South-central Colorado, where I live, is officially in “severe” drought. (Other parts of the state are in extreme or exceptional drought. In this case, being exceptional is really, really not good.)

Normally in dry winters I give my native grassland yard and kitchen garden a good soak in one of our periodic mild spells. Not this winter. I’ve been so absorbed with finishing the house that I’ve completely neglected the yard and garden.

Mule deer tracks

Native plants are tough. They can survive droughts. But I want the wildflowers to really pop and the kitchen garden to look its delectable best this spring when I’m showing the house to potential buyers.

Now it’s so dry that the deer have cut dusty trails through the bunchgrass grassland, and the organic mulch topping the raised beds in the kitchen garden has weathered gray.

On warm weekend days, I think about watering. And instead head for the shop to rip, sand, and paint trim, and then haul it inside and fire up the air compressor and pneumatic nailer.

My handsome, talented–and flexible–honey caulking the sill of a sliding glass door a few months before he died. Not bad for a guy with terminal brain cancer.

I’m not complaining, mind you. This particular trim carpentry project is very satisfying since I’m completing the house Richard helped build. Now that I’m close to finishing the interior door and window trim, I’m pretty eager to just. get. it. done.

So feeling guilty is as far as I’ve gotten with watering. Until today, when I figured that if I ate my lunch at my desk while I wrote, I could take my half-hour of lunch break to water the kitchen garden.

It was 53 degrees F and breezy out, considerably warmer than the dawn temperature of six above. I grabbed the watering wand, and turned on the hose faucet for the first time since, oh, early November.

Bags of organic cotton boll compost headed for the kitchen garden in fall.

I poked a finger through the mulch in the bed where I normally grow broccoli, beets, and sugar-snap peas, and was surprised to find that an inch down below the powder-dry surface, the soil was barely moist. Definitely an argument for mulching the garden in winter. (I use an organic cotton boll compost; it’s acidified to counteract the alkaline tendencies of my garden soil.)

The big surprise though came when I pulled back the double-layer of row cover on the greens bed. It’s a summer squash bed in the warm months; after the first hard frost, I yank the dead plants and seed in spinach, lettuce and mesclun mixes. They sprout before winter comes, and then (I hope) stay alive through December and January’s sub-zero nights to get a jump-start on spring.

Monet’s Garden Mesclun flourishing (under a row cover) despite nights as low as -16 F.

Under the protection of the row cover, not only was the soil moist and dark, it was dotted with green: tiny spinach plants, mache (also called corn salad) with its succulent, round leaves, and the ruffled red and green leaves of Monet’s Garden Mesclun!

A big thank-you to Renee Shepherd and Renee’s Garden for finding and growing seed varieties that are not only delicious and beautiful, but tough too.

According to my garden journal, I planted these greens October 14th, watered them a time or two over the next four weeks, and then clamped the row cover securely–and neglected the planting until now. They not only survived an extra-cold, extra-dry winter, they’re ready to thin and eat. Wow.

Lunch tomorrow will feature my first home-grown salad of the year. Thanks, Renee!