Monarchs get hungry moving through.
“It’s chilly out, Mama, did you know Chile is a country?”
How many foods do you see?
I’d always saved the plastic pots and trays from purchased transplants.
Save them. Wash them. Scrub them. Rinse them. Sanitize them. Dry them. Fill them. Sow them.
Then they’d break.
Recycle bin. And hope. Hope they’d actually be recycled.
I put the brakes on all that.
The sweet potatoes took on the yellow pear tomatoes and won. The cages now house greenery for the tubers (hopefully) down below.
They made a move for the sun gold cherries but no. Those cherries made a counter maneuver. Take that, sweet potatoes.
A scarecrow, in a field of corn, to keep the birds at bay.
A sharecrow, in rows of beans, to feed them come what may.
I’m reading a book. I’ve forgotten the name in my currently foggy (“thick as peanut butter!” / “you mean pea soup!” / “you eat what you like and I’ll eat what I like!” ) brain. It tells of learning of farming from observation, documentation, and old timers.
One old timer the author learned from spoke of feeding the crows when the corn seedlings were small, so they left the sprouts alone until they were big enough that the crows left them be.
An unintentional parallel in my garden, currently.