Sowing

Seventy-four basil seedlings for a household of two. Why the packet always wins, why I cannot make myself thin a cell, what crowding costs on the plate, and the one low-effort habit that helped a little.

One unreasonably good tomato in July got scraped into a jam jar. Three seasons later: the crops worth saving, the ones I gave up on, the paper towel disaster, and the ten minute test that beats guessing.

I stood in a nursery parking lot feeling like a fraud with four tomato plants in a flat. Then I did the arithmetic on my own weekends. What I still start from seed, what I buy, and how I pick a plant in the aisle.

A cold night that did not freeze still cost me three weeks of peppers. What I read now instead of a calendar, why hardening off is worth two dull weekends, and the root ball I split in half.

A tomato seedling as thick as dental floss, a shop light hung too high, and a tray of peppers that toppled over in four days. What stretching actually means, and which seedlings are worth rescuing.

Forty cells of bean seedlings on the kitchen counter taught me that most of what I was starting under lights would have been happier sown straight into the ground. Here is the list I keep now, and the three questions behind it.