The greenhouse is a lively place this spring, even more so than usual. Yes, I'm growing plants in there, but get this--I'm also growing chickens.

Just for fun...and also, for a few other reasons.

One: I needed a place to house my growing flock during the winter that would protect them from freezing temperatures. Not that chickens can't handle freezing temperatures, mind you, because they can. Except, when they are exposed to freezing temperatures, they can get frostbite--mainly on their combs and wattles. This isn't life-threatening, but it does end any chance of them ever winning a beauty pageant. And even though beauty is only skin deep, when you're raising rare birds that might eventually be on display, that skin becomes not-so-superficial anymore.

Reason #2: The warmer temperatures in the greenhouse and the greater exposure to sunlight naturally motivates the hens to keep on laying eggs through the winter months...and having fresh eggs during the winter months is so exciting! If you're a crazy chicken chick, that is...of whom I might be. Maybe.

​And the final reason: The added body heat and carbon dioxide released in the chicken breath (yes, I said chicken breath...and I like it much better than dog breath if we're comparing animal aromas) actually aid the plants by raising the overall temperatures inside the room and stimulating growth, respectively. Which is why I have such happy looking plants so early in the season this year...

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Some of the lavender is even starting to bloom! And the cilantro looks ready for a fiesta already. Cue the mariachi band, please.

While the guys in sombreros warm up, let me just say that keeping chickens in the greenhouse over the winter has been a big success. It's been good for the chickens and the plants, and to be quite honest the whole situation has made me downright giddy...which, in turn, feels doggone great!

And so, (no surprise here) I can't seem to stay out of there. And when I'm in there, I find myself finding reasons to stay a bit longer. Plants and animals have always made me happy, and having them altogether in one room has just about put me over the moon!

No offense to the moon, but I like the earth much better. Especially the part of it where my greenhouse sits.

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Ever wonder what Adam & Eve wore while toiling around in the Garden of Eden?

You guessed it--fig leaves.​  At least after that infamous encounter with the sneaky serpent, that is.  Before that they went au-natural.  And then you might say their fashion-savvy eyes were opened to more nature-inspired creations.

I'm not sure exactly how they wore these things, but I can imagine that Eve, being a woman, somehow managed to assemble them into a stylish outfit or two.  Probably even dangled a couple of ripe figs from her earlobes to jazz things up on a Saturday night.  She did have a thing for fruit, after all (wink, wink).

But that's just me and my overactive imagination.  ​​I doubt if Adam really cared what Eve was wearing, but us women just naturally (pun intended) like to look good.  Even if our resources are somewhat limited.  At least she eventually got some variety when they got wrapped in animal skins...

I'm glad I have a few more options to choose from than the first lady (and by "first lady" I mean the very first lady), especially since it's Sunday morning and I'm facing that weekly dilemma: What am I going to wear to church?

Maybe today instead of heading to my closet, I'll head out to the greenhouse and pick a few leaves off my fig tree...

Nah, I'm running late as it is.  Maybe next week...

But I do think all this nature talk has inspired me a bit, so in honor of our common ancestor and her creative fashion sense, I think I'll wear my leaf-patterned wrap dress.  ​​

Dilemma solved!  I'm so glad we had this discussion.​

Now all I have to figure out is what to do with my hair...and I need to pick out a pair of shoes.  Oh boy, I gotta go--time's-a-wastin' and that church bell's about to ring... ​​

The greenhouse is bursting at the seams right now.  It's so full of pots that all I see is a sea of seedlings when I step through the door. 

I guess I went a little crazy sowing seeds several weeks ago.  Long winters do that to me.

But thankfully now that spring is here, the greenhouse is so stuffed with plants that I can't even walk through it without knocking over a pot or snagging my sleeve on a sticky leaf or stem.​​

I think that's a​ nice problem to have, and since the scene seems to change daily, I don't mind at all.

​I do love my plants.  The more, the merrier I say! 

And also, the more of us who are merrier, the better life is, so take a gander at my stuffed-to-the-gills greenhouse and just try to resist all the merriment that comes at you...

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Here's a closer look--cilantro, tomatoes, chamomile, basil, mint, tomatoes, tomatoes, calendula, and tomatoes.

Wish I'd thought to sow some tomatoes.  Oh wait...

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I did sow tomatoes...

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And for a change of pace, I also sowed a tomato.

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In addition, I sowed a tubful of scarlet carrots.

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Here's the mint again, French lavender, and the basil and chamomile.  Plus tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes, and Spanish lavender.

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And finally, we have marigolds, kale, basil, lavender, sweet peas, tomatoes, tomatoes, lavender, and oh brother, I've lost track...

I've also lost control it seems, especially when it comes to tomatoes.  And also when it comes to keeping order.

So, let's recap:  It's springtime, the greenhouse is packed (mainly with tomatoes), and I've lost track, control, and any sense of order I may have once had. 

Hmm, it looks like it's shaping up to be a good year!

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P.S.  Here's a sneak peek at what's on the other side of the greenhouse...yep, that's some nice healthy green tomatoes ripening on the vine! 

I thought I'd save the best for last...although honestly I can't guarantee that I'll be saving any of these for anybody but myself once they ripen...  

Clearly, I have issues with sharing--life is such a struggle!​

My greenhouse is a mess. 

It looks terrible, but I knew it would when I made the decision last month to let it freeze. 
The past few years I've kept it just above freezing inside in order to keep my container plants alive without having to bring them into my house during the winter months.  It's not that I don't like houseplants, it's just that small houses and large plants (like my citrus trees) don't go together very well. 

Having the greenhouse available during the winter months to house the citrus and other pots of tender perennials means that I don't have to try to keep them alive by crowding them into our living space. 

We like to have room to stretch.

But there is a downside or two to keeping an outside structure warm during the coldest months of the year:  It can get expensive if I use electric heaters to do the job, it can get burdensome if I burn wood in the barrel stove continuously, and it can get pretty cozy for all those plant pests that would otherwise have been eliminated when the temperatures dip below freezing.   

That was three wasn't it?  Three downsides.  Oh well, at least I noticed the discrepancy.  Do me a favor and just pretend you didn't notice it, though.  Then we can still be friends.

And that brings me to the main reason I decided to freeze my greenhouse--all those pesky pests that aren't my friends and whom have been wreaking havoc on my plants the past few seasons.  White flies, aphids, ants, spidermites, and who knows what else have been steadily increasing in numbers inside the warm "winter retreat" I've created for them.   I won't venture to guess how much they've increased, since I've already proven how lacking my math skills are.  Let's just say it's a lot.

So when the new year rolled around this past January (as opposed to it rolling around in February or March) I went out to the greenhouse and took stock.  I realized that I didn't have nearly as many potted plants as in years past, and that it might be possible to squeeze them all into my sitting room without making us feel like we were living in a jungle all winter.

So I tried it.  And guess what--it worked!  Here they are, all clustered together by my front window. 

I can't decide if he's practicing to be a ninja warrior, a Jedi knight, or circus performer.  But as long as he can hone his moves without whacking one of my plants, it's all good.  And it's always good to be prepared for an attack.

Unless you're an enemy bug living it up in my greenhouse.  I kind of like it that they weren't prepared for my freeze attack.  It worked out in my favor, which is my favorite way for things to work out.

And before long the greenhouse will start looking better, because I'll be back out there digging in tubs of soil that have spent the winter resting, and planting seeds that can sprout up this spring without fear of being eaten alive by hungry bugs.

Never mind that they'll eventually be eaten by my hungry family...what they don't know won't hurt them.

Although I can't say as much for anybody who gets in the way of Will during his training sessions!

I thought I'd try something new this winter.  And yes, I realize my track record with trying something new and actually having it be successful isn't exactly stellar, but that never seems to stop me.  This time it involves a bit of weird science and a word that is slightly controversial (cloning), which makes the whole experience even more intriguing...

It all stemmed (no pun intended) from a tip I received from an heirloom tomato grower back in the spring while I was browsing the Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Festival.  Here's what sparked my interest:  You know those sucker shoots that grow out of the junction of the tomato stem and leaf branch?  The ones that suck energy away from the main plant and reduce your tomato harvest?  Well, this fella I ran into told me when I break those sneaky suckers off, I could--get this--plant them!  In effect, I could clone my tomato plants! 

Now I don't know why this hadn't ever occurred to me.  I mean, I've been basically doing the same thing with my geraniums and lavender for years but just never thought to call it "cloning".  And it makes sense that the process would work with tomato plants, since all those little hairs covering the stems are actually teensy tiny little roots that, if buried, will mature into a fantastic root system.  But to make the connection that I could snip off a sucker, stick it in the soil, and in essence, save my heirloom tomato plants from season to season, I needed to run into this friendly fellow tomato lover.  Glad we had that encounter.

So here's what I did...

When the weather turned colder and frost was imminent, I went around inspecting my tomato plants for sucker shoots.  I managed to find a few, snip them off, and speed them into the greenhouse where I had some pots filled with potting soil awaiting their arrival.  I stuck the suckers into the soil, sprinkled them with water, and set them on a shelf in the sun.  And then I forgot about them. 

A few weeks later, I wandered into the greenhouse in search of a shovel and suddenly remembered the tomato suckers.  (This is how my life goes...absentmindedness is ever-present.)

I reached up and grabbed the tray of pots, lifted them down to eye level, and this is what I saw...

Hmmn.  Well, at least they weren't all dead.  Actually, I was quite happy that the ones that were alive seemed to be doing well.  I scanned the labels to see which varieties they were, and discovered that Chocolate Stripe, Sungold, Pink Brandywine, and Red Zebra were all still with me.  Things didn't turn out so well for Yellow Brandywine, Green Envy, Black Krim, or Cherokee Purple, but I won't hold it against them.  What would be the point? 

I quickly cut my losses and focused in on my survivors.  A quick sprinkle of water later, and they were back up on their sunny shelf, left to do their business--whatever that is.  I'm not exactly sure what my goal is in all this, except that I was curious about the tomato cloning process and had a lot of fun pretending I was a mad scientist, barricaded in a dark castle tower laboratory deep in the forests of Germany and surrounded by beakers full of bubbling brew, odd machines spewing steam and smoke, and my very own big green monster with bolts in his neck.  Although I'm not sure "Frankenstein" had much to do with cloning tomato plants.  None-the-less, it's where my mind went...and it was loads of fun. 

So I'll let you know how this all turns out.  I can't see why this process wouldn't work, unless I forget all about them again.  Which is, in actuality, extremely likely.  But as long as we know that ahead of time, we should be fine.  And who knows, if this goes well I may end up cloning my tomato plants every year. 

But if I start draping myself in an over-sized lab coat, leading around a giant green man in really big boots, and staring off into the distance with a half-crazed look in my eye, somebody call my husband.  He'll know what to do.

I just hope he lets me keep my goggles.

Well, it's mid-July, and it finally got hot around here.  And by now you know that when it's hot outside, it's even hotter inside my greenhouse.  It's a place I tend to avoid during the height of summer--I only venture in when I have to.  This week just happened to be one of those "have to" occasions, because despite the soaring temperatures in there, I knew it was time to address this mess--I mean mass--of seedlings. 

These teensy, tangled shoots are actually my fall seedlings: broccoli, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts.  We started them several weeks ago because they need quite a bit of time to develop before going outside into the garden beds.  Obviously, they should have been dealt with before they reached the point of falling over, but nobody's perfect--even me.  (Gasp!). 

But the point is that I finally did get around to addressing the issue, and interestingly enough, the first step was to pull the plug...

The plant plug, that is.  And this is one of them.  A "plug" in the greenhouse world refers to a small core of soil with a seedling growing from it.  Growers start their seeds in neat little trays designed just for these plugs with the purpose of transplanting them later into larger cell packs like what you see at the garden centers. 

One day I might go all fancy and buy a few of those trays, but for now I have a habit of using what I have in order to do what I want.  So, as usual, we improvised...

By using paper egg cartons.  It works.  They aren't as deep or narrow as the professional trays, but otherwise they work the same way.  And the bonus is that if you wanted to, you could tear the sections apart and plant the whole "cup" in the garden!  The cartons are biodegradable, and because you're not disturbing the roots at all, the seedling has a better shot at surviving. 

So why wouldn't I just do this instead of what I'm about to show you?  Well, look again at this photo:

How many seedlings do you see sprouting from this one little plug? 

Definitely more than one, right?  This is because Will and I may have gotten a bit carried away sprinkling the seeds into the cartons...and now you know why we needed to transplant them. 

It was a fairly simple procedure.  Here's how we did it:

We gently grasped the plug and teased apart the rootball so each seedling was separate from the rest.  I can't emphasis the "gently" part enough, since the stems and roots are so fragile at this stage of development.  Let me just say that not all seedlings survived the surgery. 

May they rest in peace.

But as for the rest of them...

After we got each one separated, we immediately planted it into its own space.  The key here is to have the seedling trays pre-filled with potting soil, and already moistened too.  The less time the seedling's roots are exposed to the air, the better.  They're kinda like a fish out of water at that point...and I don't like dead fish.  Unless it's a freshly caught trout that's getting all fried up for supper.  I do like fresh trout...

I may have gotten off track here.  Is anybody surprised? 

I saw that look you just gave me.

Well, talk amongst yourselves, please, while I get myself re-focused...

Ahh...here we go.  This is what the newly transplanted seedlings looked like just a few days after the transplant.  They rebounded pretty quickly despite the heat inside the greenhouse, thank goodness for that.  All they have to do now is sit right there and grow for a few more weeks before getting transplanted out into the fall garden beds.

I can hardly wait for that to happen--planting the fall beds, I mean.  I absolutely love seeing my neat rows of cool-weather crops nestled in the straw-lined beds, especially on those crisp fall mornings when I meander through the garden. 

Refreshing!  That's the word I'm looking for.  Fall gardens are refreshing...not to mention all the goodies I get to bring to the table from them.  Yes, the harvest is very refreshing too--and after sweating it out in the greenhouse this week, you can bet I am eagerly awaiting that refreshment!

My citrus trees are shedding their winter foliage and sending out new leaves, and so they've been re-located to their rightful place over by window on the "peacock wall".  This wall borders the peafowls' roosting area, and by placing my citrus trees there the trees catch the breezes that blow through the window when it's open.  Also, the peafowl can see the trees through the glass, and it makes them feel like they're in a forest...or so they said.  And peafowl are pretty honest birds.  Snobby, but honest.

This is the Mortgage Lifter tomato plant now.  It's no longer thriving.  After several days of below-freezing temperatures and two nights that registered a high of 9 degrees, I don't blame it.  

In it's defense, it hung on for as long as it could.  So did I.  I did my best to protect all the tomato plants in the greenhouse throughout this cold spell, and I really thought I had it in the bag.  But then just before the warm up came along we dipped into some record nightly lows, and that did us in.  

By us, I mean me and the tomato plants.  We're a team, or we were.  And when our best efforts fell short of success, this team gracefully accepted defeat.

Well, we did take a few moments to wallow in self pity, blame everyone in the world but ourselves for our failure, and look upward toward the heavens while shaking our fists in anger at the injustice of it all.

But after that, we were fine.

Anyone who's spent anytime at all in the garden knows that sometimes you just have to let things go.  A good gardener knows that doing that sometimes involves coming up with a new plan.  

A new planting plan, that is.  This time, my plan involves some season-appropriate crops. 

Lettuce, kale, spinach, and chard all enjoy cold weather, and I just happened to have some seedlings started and ready for transplanting.  I like to be prepared for the worst, so I started these seedlings weeks ago for such a time as this.

I knew I was pushing it by trying to keep the tomatoes plants alive until Christmas, but I had to try.  And in a different year it might have worked.  But the weather in the Ozarks is about as predictable as is the next appearance of my elusive pond panther, and I'm okay with that.  It sure keeps you on your toes...as does my panther, now that I think about it. 

I knew the tomatoes couldn't last forever, and when they finally gave up the battle, having fresh new leafy green seedlings waiting in the wings sure helped cushion the blow.

It just makes sense to work with seasons instead of fighting them, so this week it's out with the summer veggies and in with the winter ones. My seedlings are ready to go, and my tomato plants are ready to go away. 

I think it's a good move.  Since these new plants require less heat than the tomatoes did, I won't have to worry as much about keeping the greenhouse warm.  All they need is minimal protection against frost and freezing, and then the basics like sunlight and water.  And actually, they need less light and water in the winter than any other time of the year. The cooler weather causes them to grow more slowly, and some even go dormant when the temperatures dip into the extremes.  Kind of reminds me of myself...

Thankfully in the gardening world, when one thing ends, another begins.  And that's just fine with me.  It keeps life interesting, and it keeps me busy!

Plus, it keeps me out of trouble...and off of the prayer list.