Yup, up from the grave she arose. This brave, and now tardy, Early Girl managed to survive early planting (the poor dear was delivered in early April — way too early in POD’s experience to be planting tomatoes in Philly), crap soil (which, after a full refund was augmented with a good deal of organic fertilizer), and Hitchcockian bird attacks.
You’re looking at the one, and only, plant on deck. Sheer laziness (and good deep-soil planting technique, thank you very much) was its savior, as this gardener was far too despondent about the prospect of the total failure of Plants on Deck to bother removing it. And it’s a good thing, too, as the three sizable and just ripening tomatoes out front were stolen away in the dark of night by one of South Philly’s charming pedestrians.
These days, POD’s all about trying new things. For years, the Endurer’s been asking for berries. For years, he’s been ignored. Suddenly, though, there seemed to be a new wisdom in his request: they’re perennials. One and done. Just like babies! But, one hopes, less noisy and more tasty.
Anyhoo, this dwarf Top Hat bush found a home alongside a semi-dwarf Sunshine Blue about a month ago. In the intervening month, both bushes turned burning-bush/toddler tantrum crimson and I feared the stress of shipping and replanting had already gotten the best of them.
And this year’s just a bewildering, disconcerting, and unsettling mess of a spring. These travel-stressed and sunlight-starved Celebrities made their debut just yesterday. But we’re looking at an 88 degree afternoon. Which is hot. Too hot, POD thinks. When the heat of the day hits, they’ll be coming inside for an afternoon rest. (Thanks, Endurer.)
There once was an enterprising city squirrel. Mangy and distrustful, the demonic little rodent looked up, down, and scurried onto a little blue deck, located just blocks from the Delaware’s mighty river shores. The wind was icy but the twitchy devil was warmed by the doughnut he had stolen from a hungry worker down the alley.
Knowing that his treasure would surely taste sweeter after a few months buried in POD’s cold soil, he dug. And dug. And dug. The neurotic monster ripped the poor over-wintering kale from its chilly home and entombed his tasty find.
And the sad little kale, rudely disrupted from hibernation, lay on its side, roots exposed to the brutal Philly elements. The demonic little rodent twitched a twitchy smile and scampered off, satisfied with his destruction.
Months later, after the winter’s most brutal days had passed and spring was telegraphing her signs of life, POD’s tender braved the swirling winds and climbed the sladder to the little blue deck.
Oh, the carnage! Oh, poor little kale! But wait? Were its leaves still tender, supple, and green? A survivor!
Cradling the damaged and forgotten kale, she made her way back down the treacherous sladder and lovingly transplanted the heroic kale to the barren blue window box overlooking a busy Pennsport street. The kale, like the poor hungry dude’s quite possibly powdered sugar doughnut, had survived.