File this under: What Not To Do. A rather fat file in the Mind Your Dirt Corporate Offices of Information and Enlightenment File Management Room…
I’ve gone ahead and accidentally and massively over-planted the tiniest of my tiny garden plots.
I did it with a sense of deliberate defiance too. Reaping what I’ve sown has quite literally left me bush-whacked and frantic the moment once forgotten seeds began pushing sprout.
I basically planted some old ass potato spuds that I found in a box whilst cleaning out my garage. For nearly a year they withered away their prime months in the hot and dry SoCal un-ventilated garage. Amazed by their tenacity, I just slapped them into the ground in jubilant and ceremonial awe and fervor.
The only problem is I had also planted several heirloom pumpkin seeds the month before in the same bed. Oops. When the long atrophied synapses in my brain began firing again, I realized that this situation was only going to get worse. Steps Jerry! Steps will need to be taken.
So here’s what my caveman brain came up with as a solution. If growing outward isn’t a viable option, then perhaps upward is the only way to grow. I’ve seen potato towers in action before, but have never tried one. I also didn’t want to spend any paper money for lumber or fabric bag towers so I noodle scratched for a spell. Then it hit me, What about that collection of cheap 5 gallon pots I have stashed in the backyard?! A bit smaller than a standard tower, but the total cost is zero of dollars so, what’s to lose?
The potato tower is claimed by many to be able to increase yield while decreasing square footage in your garden plot. I don’t believe that the former is true at all and there’s no real evidence that yield is increased at all. As this is my first experiment, I’ll gladly share my findings, but I don’t have a control so it’s not a true experiment. I just had a sudden risk of crowding and thought this was my best shot without pulling plants out. Having said that, Mind Your Dirt is NOT claiming any additional benefits from using potato towers apart from space saving. I’m just testing the waters and turning a potentially bad situation into an interesting one. Maybe. Read this for further info.
-Mind Your Dirt Corporate Law team (aka me).
Apart from the above video, here’s some more detail shots of the steps. I’m really not sure if this is a good idea or not but so far the plant is growing like gangbusters so I’m sharing it anyhoo.
Since we humans have pulled our lumbering and flipper-legged mass out of the primordial ooze we have been hard-wired to fear the darkness. The setting sun would have us scurrying under rock, climbing into canopy or slithering into backs of caves. Huddled and shaking we clung to each other waiting for the warmth and relative safety of the morning light. For in the darkness lies danger. Danger known and danger barely perceived. For it was a night such as this that brings me to your internet doorsteps today.
In the darkness outside of my (slightly more modern) cave a great terror arose from over the Pacific Ocean. The great storm. Dark and terrible it rained down it’s icy droplets and howled through my village (of San Diego) with apparently powerful winds. All of which I slept through without stirring a titch. I didn’t even wake up when my beloved coastal coral tree was split in three and came crashing down on my roof, my fence, and the street respectively.
The last link there being one I should have revisited last winter. The winter I decided to not do my annual pruning because I was “too busy” to tend to it. Too busy to remove the great mass of branches and leaves that is likely the very reason why she couldn’t withstand the night terror of a storm that did her in. Mostly.
Friday morning found me doing the normal routine. Butt scratching, a shower, bask my glorious facial hair in the sun of a hundred gods, and then walk the dog. I left the house and began the walk when I realized there was a giant mass blocking our path. In my morning haze, it took a few ticks before I realized what had occurred. This was what I walked right into…
Happy Zombie Jesus day everyone! Nothing screams (or peeps) Easter morning quite like the sound of a pack of newly hatched chicks. I tried to time their hatching for this morning for significant spiritual impact. They arrived a bit early though. Despite my efforts to stuff them back into crumbling shells. Tenacious and screaming for life, play, and a bit of fresh air they rose a little bit before the Jesus did. Timing is everything.
So no meaningful #Easterjesuschicks without a modicum of revisionist history. So it goes.
It is time for the MYD farms to renew the flock. I now have a small pack of freeloaders that produce fewer and fewer eggs. If any at all. More troops have been deployed to the cozy and warm depths of a darkened incubator via my good friend Aaron over at the East County Zoo. The hens I’ve gotten from him have always been happy and healthy beasts. He was also so very kind to have hand delivered the fertile eggs to the MYD Estates and Luxury Center on his way into town. Well played East County Zoo!
I selected Easter Eggers to help bring some splashes of color to my egg cartons. Aaron also brought over a breed he’s working on which is a mix between a Ayam Cemani rooster and a Black Australorp hen. He asked if I was interested in hatching it. You don’t have to try too hard to talk me into hatching any experimental breeds of any creature. As illustrated below.
So I said yes and loaded up the butt nugget oven. set the knob to Uber Cute Fluff Butt and waited.
There is something within us all. Deep in the gooey center. Lurking and slumbering as we walk this world of coarseness and slander. There in the depth dwells a dim light of hope and pure joy. One of the choicest ways to summon this light is to gaze upon the perfectly round and poofy backside of a fuzzy little baby chick. Then, POW! All the feelings!
Side note: You can really intensify this feeling if you stuff seven baby chicks into your stupid beard-face while they wiggle tiny beaks into neck fat warm cuddle pockets. Try to make your stupid beard face look like a hens ass if you’re able. Wash afterwards of course. Followed by the anointing of the oils. Performed by vestal virgins obviously. I’m no slouch.
Well folks, as you can probably gather with your sexy huge brains, I’m about to show you a bunch of baby chickens. On Easter Morning. No charge at all! So go ahead kids and release that warm light from the cockles of your inner nethers. For I present to you…The Horde!