6 days ago I poked an inexpert finger into 9 small pots of compost, plopped a seed in the resulting hole, covered it up with a fistful more of compost and crossed my fingers.
Now just look at this one! It’s a monster already. 6 of the 9 seeds we sowed are through. I’ve secretely got my fingers crossed that all 9 will make it, and we’ll have a repeat of The Tomato Incident of 2011, when I diligently sowed twice as many as I needed to account for losses and non-starters. I proved to be such a careful Tomato-mummy that I ended up overrun, and spent the 5 hour car journey back from university clinging desperately on to a lapful of vulnerable seedlings quivering in the breeze.
Still, I’m impressed with these courgettes so far. No trouble at all starting them off, they have been watered daily in your average windowsill propagator and otherwise
poked admiringly from time to time left alone. Their bosom buddies the crookneck squash have started to sprout but are not so vigorous, and we have timid shootlets from the tomatoes. My love for gardening is growing along with it, each morning when I come down for my breakfast at 5.30, yawning widely in my bear dressing gown, hair askew, the first thing I do is to check on my seeds. I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it when they start producing things I can eat.