I remove the netting, and somebody sunbathes in the broccoli patch

June 4,2016

The neighborhood rabbit had been hopping around and looking impatient recently, so I laid fine-mesh plastic netting over the vegetable beds to discourage him. Protected by their net canopies, the sugar snap peas, lettuce, carrots and broccoli seeds finally germinated and turned into seedlings. Then I worried that the rabbit might be female, a single mom with baby bunnies to feed and a support system that relies on the kindness of strange gardeners. So I decided to cut short this season's save-the-vegetables project and take off the netting. Setting the seedlings free was easy in several of the raised beds, because the lettuce, broccoli and carrots had barely poked their tiny green heads above the soil line. I'd set short plants stakes at intervals along the beds and rested the netting on top. So all I had to do was remove the weights, lift off the plastic, get my feet caught in the net, mutter a few words a Sunday school teacher like moi should not use, and disentangle myself – and then those seedlings were free.

The pea patch was even more of a challenge, because the seedlings had taken a growth spurt and pushed up through the tiny netted holes. Liberating them meant carefully cutting away swaths of the netting, gently disengaging the pea vines, and then inching down the eight-foot bed to the next row. While I was struggling to parole all the peas, my chief garden staffer, Benjamin BadKitten, joined me, probably drawn by the colorful language that I usually direct at him. Purring, he rubbed against my jeans, deftly avoiding trapping himself in the netting. When I did not immediately pet him (I had not deftly avoided wrapping myself up in the mess,) he stalked off. He'd gone, I assumed, to his favorite spot in the shade of the tall flowers in the front garden. Finally, the peas were free, and I'd rolled up the blasted netting and bundled it into a tightly tied bag for safe disposal. (If the netting could win a tangle match with me, imagine how much harm it could do, floating free among fish, whales and dolphins, after being dumped off by a garbage scow somewhere at sea.)

I uncoiled the hose to water the vegetable beds, turned, and discovered my chief garden staffer, eyes closed and sprawled, belly up, smack on top of a row of tiny broccoli. Benjamin, a hefty Maine coon cat with wide hindquarters, slitted his eyes at me. Apparently I was blocking the sun, and he wanted an even tan. I told him to move. He flicked his fat tail and flattened more seedlings. I decided to water the broccoli bed first.

Rehiring my BadKitten as chief garden staffer actually has been a comfort to both of us, I think. We are missing Rags, our Old English sheepdog, who died recently and was BBK's best friend. It helps to settle back into familiar routines, including having my BadKitten keep me company in the garden again. I can talk to him about happy memories of Rags and my latest plans for the flower and vegetable beds. He lies nearby, or on my lap while I'm trying to plant, and seems to listen. Benjamin is more tolerant of my conversation than Abby, our black and white, long-haired cat. She often spends time among the flowers, too, but if I greet her or, Garden Goddess forbid, try to chat, she lays back her ears, offers a crabby meow that sounds remarkably like, “Buzz off,” and stalks away to a more secluded spot. Tessa the Vague, my former garden chief, was neither a sidekick nor a conversationalist. She seemed startled whenever she found herself in the front garden, and hightailed back through the cat door into the house if I smiled at her.

The pink plastic, cylindrical sails I wrapped around my smaller tomato plants are back in dry dock in the garden shed. This week's sunny weather has made the tomato plants happy about going commando. Some even have set yellow flowers. I'll transplant the more fragile plants as soon as the big, affordable pots I ordered online arrive. Our patio is an old-fashioned slab of concrete, crumbling into rough scallops at the edges. Spending major bucks for beautiful pottery planters is not part of the garden budget. Our pots are humble green plastic. Using fancy ceramics would raise the pressure I already feel at growing tomatoes. If the neighborhood rabbit is brave enough to hop onto our patio, I will offer her a BLT.