The Gardening Competition

Over Christmas break, my grandma got something in the mail.

It was a catalogue. A seed catalogue, to be more specific. It wasn't terribly glossy, and it wasn't a famous sup- plier. But boy, that thing was thick. It had a beautifully illustrated cover, a water- color painting of flowers, herbs, and vegetables. And inside, it had for sale more flower, herb, and vegetable seeds than I knew existed; each described concisely and accompanied by a fullcolor picture. Oca. Quinoa. Purple-skinned tomatoes. Fifty-pound squash shaped like pink bananas.

I, nerd that I am, was enthralled. I've tried to grow gardens in the past, but I usually fail partway through the season. I'll for- get to thin the beans, or the cat will take to using the planting bed as a litter box, or the soil will dry up faster than I can water it. I had sworn to give up on trying, but how could I say no to single-serving-sized canteloupe and stubby little Nantes carrots?

At that point, it occurred to me what I needed: A sup- port system. Someone to hold me to my ambition and suffer through the process with me.

So a few nights after Christmas, as my older cousin played some beautiful sonata on the highest keys of the piano and my little brother plunked out 'Heart and Soul' on the other end of the keyboard, I shyly approached them, clutching the catalogue tightly.

"Uh, guys?" I began.

"What?" they said, al- most at the same time. My cousin stopped playing and faced me. My brother didn't do either of those things.

Over the (rather distract- ing) plunking in the background, I outlined my idea. What if all three of us grew a garden? We could all pick out seeds from the catalogue, secure an area to grow in, and share our mishaps with each other.

My cousin was enthusias- tic. My brother was noteably less so, but played along because of the peer pressure.

We decided on a few side details. First of all, we each had to stake a certain amount of money on our own success. If a garden failed to produce a viable crop, the owner would never see those funds again. In ad- dition, since my cousin lives in the Silicon Valley and has a miniscule backyard, garden space was limited to 9 square feet per garden, so as not to put her container garden at a disadvantage. All plants had to be started from seed, and everyone had to grow at least three crops, but no more than five.

From there, we had fun flipping through the catelogue together and 'choosing our weapons'. Alternate- ly gawking and laughing at the more ususual specimens avaliable for purchase, the three of us eventually made our choices.

It'll be hard, I know, to keep the garden alive. This year, though, I'm ready to go through with it. I can't wait to send my cousin pictures of the first orange blooms on the canteloupe vine, or of carrots pulled freshly out of the ground, or of cherry tomatoes and yellow pep- pers still wet with dew. I can't wait to get pictures back; pictures of inch-long cucumbers, tiger-striped melons and mahogany-col- ored tomatoes called Black Prince.

Spring can't come soon enough this year.

(Note to readers: Tune in next week for the results of the Pioneer Posse corona- tion.)