Country Mouse Monday: aaaah, seeds ordered...

The Baker Creek seed catalog is seriously my most favorite garden-porn -- 211 whole pages of luscious photos of gorgeous food and flowers, a feast for the eyes.

Garden dreams like these illuminate every dark winter.

The catalog's been been sitting on the coffee table for a couple of months now.  I gobbled it as soon as it arrived, page by page, imagining this summer's garden, and even as I was bingeing on the images and ideas, prudently remembering my existing stock of seeds and future harvest desires.

I made my selections, marked my pages, waited.

I've already got some seeds started outside -- lettuce, amarath and cucumbers in a seed tray; carnations, sweet peas, sweet william, golden beets in Bed 1-- and we've got peppers and tomatoes in Box 4 already, luxuriating in the early spring heat of the California paradise we inhabit.

But I'm trying to bide my time a bit and remember that it's still early days, there's time.

Patience is not my strong suit, but it's more necessary than ever, right now, when frost can still happen.

This morning I ordered the seeds I've been dreaming of since last fall's visit to the south of France -- haricot tarbais, the signature ingredient in cassoulet, the food of the gods; and poti marron, the delicious little pumpkin that is so tasty roasted or in soup. In truth, I faked it a little with the poti marron, and bought what I think is the same, but goes by another name -- Red Kuri.  And though I could have driven to the Baker Creek seed barn in Petaluma, about 30 minutes away, to go looking for these seeds, I opted to mail-order them, a way to resist the temptation, in the store, to fill my little pail with more and more little packets.  

There's time, there's time, there's time.

Still I can't help it: I sneak out into the garden every morning and periodically during the day when I'm home, to see what's happening, how much more the little cucumber babies are peeking up through the soil of their seed tray, checking conditions, watching the peppers hold their solar panels up to the sky.  

And now I'll be watching the mail box while keeping my foot on the brake, just itching for that day I can let off and feel the summer roar full-speed, green and blue and bright.

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