- January 15: lovingly drool over sumptuous catalogue descriptions, while the dreary grey outside comes pouring out of the sky. Mikado, pink, 1886, its longevity a testament to the orientalism that birthed Madame Butterfly, Turandot, the ice princess, the prostitute with a heart of gold.
- February 15: amass plastic salad boxes and single-use paper coffee cups. Wash, stack, anticipate. Purple Russian, plum-shaped, smoky, bacon-like, regal. 75 days to maturity. From Crimea (like many of the best short-season beauties), a place also infamous in the mythology of warfare.
- March 15: 6-8 weeks before “last frost date,” except it rarely frosts here on the Coast and these instructions mean very little. Salad box greenhouses, set on south-facing window sills. Me, the arbiter of waking and sleeping, sifting through the seedbox, weighing the painstaking notes from years past. Green Moldovan, rare. Fared well in drought; immune to bird pecks; prolific. Moldova: landlocked, once of the Russian Empire.
- April 15: once seedlings set 2 true leaves, transplant to used coffee cups, label carefully, water daily. Cover every windowsill; attempt defense from rambunctious cats. Azoychka was found in a bird market and brought back to the US in the lining of a suitcase. A yellow beefsteak with a woman’s name.
- May 15: once night temperatures exceed 15oC, set coffee cup planters out in the day, in again at night. Water daily. Move soil (heavy). Remove weeds (tedious). Oaxacan Jewel, 8oz Mexican sunsets, marbled with hues of gold, pink, red, orange.
- June 15: dug in with stale kibble, epsom salts, dry no-fat milk, everything reaches for the sky. Me, inspecting for telltale yellow blossoms, and the foraging bees (who prefer the nectar of nearby raspberry canes). Stump of the World: smooth-skinned and Biblical; ideal for sandwich picnics, hikes, Sunday school, pulpit smashing.
- July 15: the hunt for suckers continues in earnest. Structural pruning, aspirational staking. The endless search for broken hockey sticks, discarded pool cues, bamboo poles, ropes, wire. If not caged and tamed, our friends (too-long domesticated) succumb to disease and early death. Creamy, fruity Valencia: from Maine, or Spain,
depending on the day and time and storyteller. - August 15: the blight creeps, from the ground up. The riot of colour begin from the top down, in a fight against birds and rats and squirrels. Isis Candy Box: a mixed gene pool and mystery grab bag of mottled sunbursts, delivered in round and oblong shapes. Sweet explosions. Darwin was here.
- September 15: branches weigh heavily on inadequate poles, crushing them with the weight of history, whole legends of families and great escapes melted into flavourful bites, enhanced by stewing–acid, sweet, smoke, salt. Opalka, long and pointy, heavy with true tales of Polish exile (hold the cabbage rolls).
- October 15: the rain. Gather armfuls of green tomatoes before every downpour, half an eye on the clouds. They cover the windowsills where their parent plants once stretched their pale green leaves in infancy. Wapsipinicon Peaches, with their soft fuzzy skins, keep poorly but incite conversation. Seed fermentation in rows of labeled shot glasses.
- November 15: labels, sorting, notes, photos, jars, dreams. Black Vernissage, a basket of 2oz saucy baubles.