Using math – impetuous gardener style – to find bargains on seeds

 Winter 2011

There is still some snow in our yard, but this morning I saw five robins perched in the hawthorn tree outside my writing room window. Those red-breasted birds, with their happy chirps, mean the promise of spring to me. Even though it’s only February, for impetuous gardeners, it’s never too soon to start planning our new gardens. It’s also not too early to order from the seed catalogs that started dropping into our mailboxes before Christmas.

I can’t resist seed catalogs. This year, I spent much of January poring over them with the same intensity I once gave to studying for university exams. I always fold down the corner of any page that contains seeds or plants I want to order. Most of my garden catalogs look like accordions, which indicates an unfortunate lack of restraint in the shopping phase of gardening.

I cross-checked catalog prices for the hard-to-find seeds and plants I wanted until my eyes blurred, but my research and early ordering saved me money and irritation. In past years, I’ve ordered from a well-known catalog. This year I found the same seed varieties in a new, unfamiliar catalog – at half the price. Then I used the math skills that make impetuous gardeners who we are: I can order twice as many seeds from the cheaper catalog, because their seeds would have cost twice as much if I had bought them from the more expensive catalog. (When our children had complex math logic homework, they always asked their dad to help them.)

I realize that, until I’ve actually planted the cheaper seeds, I won’t know if I got a bargain or just wasted my money on poorly producing products. But I still think I’m saving money. Also, by ordering early, I got free shipping from one catalog and a sizable discount from another. I buy many seeds and most of my plants from local nurseries and garden centers, but order hard-to-find seeds and plants by mail. I’m a bit of a diva about my plants. I'm not partial to orange , except for sunflowers, or hot-pink or salmon-colored flowers. Instead, passersby will see red, purple, and blue, with splashes of pale yellow (not mustard, gold, or sunshine) in my garden beds.

I love hollyhocks, but only the old-fashioned, single-petaled variety, not the fluffy ones. I found a new, single-petaled hollyhock variety called “Halo” in a catalog so, of course, I ordered some seeds. And, please, don’t ever bring me daisies. Their fragrance reminds me of rusty nails. If ever I find a volunteer daisy plant hiding among my favorite flowers, I feel no guilt about digging it up and sending it off to compost heaven.

Ordering early meant I was also assured of getting exactly the tomato and herb plants I wanted. Late last spring, I finally decided to buy some fennel plants for my herb garden. By then, the only ones left, locally or in garden catalogs, were the bronze-leafed variety. To my Italian mind, fennel (finocchio) should have lacy, pale green fronds, not stringy, dead-looking brown leaves. My garden this summer will have green Italian fennel.

I learned a lesson, big-time, from our first full year in Idaho: Goodbye to the many lush dahlias I'd brought over from Seattle and left in the ground here over the winter. The hard freezes turned them to black mush, and I won't replace them – because I'd forget where I'd planted them and would botch the autumn rescue.

I’m delighted all of my big patio containers of herbs are still breathing. Experienced gardeners warned me there was no way my rosemary, oregano, Italian parsley, sage, and lemon thyme plants could survive a Moscow winter. But our family was coming for Christmas week, and I needed fresh herbs for all of their favorite Italian dishes: cracked Dungeness crab in a tomato, wine, lemon and herb sauce; braised Tuscan pork chops with rosemary; roast chicken with lemon and herbs, roast beef suffused with garlic and rosemary. I toyed with the idea of bringing the herb pots inside, to our dining room, but gave up that plan when I imagined how happy our three cats would be to have their own indoor gardens to fertilize. Instead, I’ve kept the herb pots outdoors on our patio, snugged up against the house wall, where they are protected from the worst of the winter chill. Every time I walk onto the patio, I smile at my valiant herbs and chalk up one small victory for impetuous gardening.