I’ll admit it: When I saw/heard that Beth, Seedsower had planted X-thousand broccoli I was overcome with competitive spirit. I dropped everything else on my daily schedule to rush home and plant, oh, a hundred of my own.
It might have been Ben Gurion, I’m not sure, who suggested that Israel would be wise to declare war on the United States, to quickly lose, and thence to benefit from a ‘Marshall Plan’ rehabilitation effort. Said in jest, of course, but still. I am in competition with my friend in the Promised Land of Democracy. In the end we should both benefit from the agronomy data: yield per acre/ optimum temperature for germination, etc.
The good news may even filter down to our Muslim neighbors, who are all, as we go to press, currently engaged in bitter and murderous street battles over the question on plant-spacing. Mohammed, with the advice of his nine-year-old wife, specified 1/3 cubit (31.403 cm.) on pain of public stoning. We are carefully watching as the awakening hordes in Tunisia, Egypt, Lebanon, Libya,etc, fight for their right to determine their own separation between seedlings. Muslim Xangans , many comfortably ex-pats, may be expected to toe the party line but let’s check their sites for a fairer evaluation.
Of cource I’m being facetious. The political situation here is turbulent and critical, with a positive outcome in no way guaranteed. Democracy and respectful self-rule doesn’t come with one’s mother’s milk, and needs to be re-discovered’ by every culture, as it sadly tries ‘all the alternatives.
Anyway, back to Beth, the sweetheart, with her vacuum-assisted planting automaton neck-and-neck with my old-fashioned one seed at a time, between thumb and index finger, each seed receiving its personalized Hebrew blessing, ‘Go thou, be fruitful, and multiply’. Time will tell.
I need, today, to finally test the tired soil here, to use my kit I bought in 2004 at Frey’s Greenhouses in Manheim, PA, and to know, after a fashion, how much Nitrogen, Potassium, and Phosphorus to add to the mix. My efforts to recover Phosphorous from piss, in the form of Struvite (Ammonium Magnesium Phosphate) have so far come to naught. Perhaps the excess of ethanol in the raw material is critical?
Whatever, here is my horsie, in the first leg of the race. The babies are about two weeks old. In ‘dog years’, that’s the equivalent of pre-pubescence. Let’s hope, with ballet lessons and soccer practice, I can make them into productive adults. JS/ Tel Aviv
PS: As an added plus(?) I’ll include my adopted pussy-cat, who decided, on the strength of a few days of cat-food, to be my ‘friend’. He takes no stand on the issue. Must be Swiss…
And this is my alarm-clock, a fortuitous ‘camera-obscura’ result of a hole high up in the East wall of my window-less shed. The sun-ray tracks through the picture on the far wall each day on a somewhat different path, reflecting the fact that the earth is moving around the sun such that the Northern hemisphere gets a 2-minute longer day every day. Yeah spring.