I do not have a green thumb. I do not have a brown thumb. Can I have no thumb? The thumb of death. Sometimes I feel as if plants at the grocers shy away when they feel me looking at them. I understand. My track record with plants is a bad one. I’m the grim reaper of the plant aisle. I might as well pull out my sickle and mow them down on the spot. It’s because of this affliction that I had to stop importing plants to Cubeville. Though I yearn for greenery during my long, grey, polyester-filled days, my often neglected plants seemed to be a source of excruciating agony for green-thumbed, good Samaritan colleagues.
Knowing all of this, I still somehow managed to become obsessed with the idea of planting a small veggie garden this year. As if it’s not enough to challenge myself with the garden, I decided to take the plunge by starting 10 varieties of heirloom tomatoes. From seed. Surprisingly they all hatched. That was 8 weeks ago. It’s time (I think) to transplant them into the ground. I’m getting really lazy about this “hardening them off” business. I hope I don’t kill them.