Yesterday afternoon, I moved my plants to larger containers. It wasn’t pretty. Roots were torn, plants were lost, dirty words were said, tiny, heartbreaking plant screams were screamed.
To my plants: I am so sorry, you guys. I was young and naive when I planted you a month ago, and my mistakes have lead to a great ripping of roots and the loss of some of your fellows. They were brave sprouts. You are stronger for having known them, mostly since I’m going to spread you all with their composted remains.
I planted my seeds in pots, too close together, so it was impossible to move them to new containers without damaging everybody’s root structures. I couldn’t get a few of the glories back in the ground. They’re my first casualties. I know now to start seeds in individual containers- I’m already saving TP tubes, I hear they work well. For this year’s crop, though, it was too late.
This morning, though, the survivors all looked green and perky. So far, it seems that everybody who got back in dirt is recovering. I hope they believe that today is so nice and sunny out because I wanted to make up for the ravages of yesterday. Also, I planted the chives (with plenty of room to spare), and I’ve got a few sweet peas emerging. So I feel a bit less guilty. Only a bit.
I put up an album. It’s not too horrifying, but I was too busy trying to not hurt the plants too much to get pictures of the worst of it.