My greenhouse blew over the fence last week.
By: Haley Chamberlain
Tags: Gardening, Urban Homesteading, Plants, Nonfiction

In the suburb we affectionately call home, the joke is that it’s almost always windy. Not my favorite trait, but one that I’ve mostly been able to overlook. Obnoxious yes, and the bane of my existence, but I love where we live enough to not complain. Too terribly much.

The other evening, we had a windstorm blow through (in January?) and it was epic. And by epic I of course mean horrendous.

Being the manic lady that I am, I immediately checked our patio shade to ensure it wasn’t being torn to shreds, I eyed the patio furniture and my beloved pots of winter plants reassuring myself of their safety, and then decided that everything was going to be okay.

Wrong.

The next morning, my husband had a coffee meeting. (Are there any other kind?) As he was leaving, he noticed something in the front yard that definitely did NOT belong there- my greenhouse. Dramatically speaking, my heart shattered into a bazillion pieces.

I am in love with my greenhouse.

For anyone not yet in the know, plants are an obsession of mine. And I’m not sorry. Not in the slightest.

Plants are happy, spunky creatures and we are better humans when they are around. All that to say, you should have plants.

This year I’ve decided that my urban homestead dreams are to be realized in a big way, and that means I need access to a longer growing season. Enter: my beloved (and cheap) greenhouse.

Y’all, I found this sucker on Amazon, and it is NOT fancy. It’s a glorified children’s playhouse, complete with basic plastic piping and a plastic cover with zippers. It did come with shelving (winning) and no matter its lack of permanence, I love it in a way that only a crazy plant lady should love a starter greenhouse.

I have inflated dreams of solar twinkle lights and a second greenhouse, a garden of ridiculous proportions, and having so many vegetables that I need to start one of those free, street-side veggie stands.

As I said- inflated.

Reality tossed my greenhouse into the front yard.

Apparently, becoming the ultimate urban gardener has its variables, and one of those seems to be when the tornadic winds of the west pillage my humble winter garden, destroying everything in their path.

After David hauled my battered greenhouse back behind the fence, I nearly gave up. After all, when you decide to do something radical like save the world, or feed your family sustainably, isn’t everything in tangible existence supposed to race to your support? No? Well then.

I had a choice to make. Naturally, in true adult fashion, I let that pile of plastic sit on the side of our house for days. I knew that next to none of the plants that had been wintering in there had survived their Wizard of Oz adventure over the fence, and quite frankly I was pissed.

Very mature.

The muster to carry on, and a little sunshine.

This winter has thus far been one of the weirdest winters we’ve seen around here in awhile. Typically, a Northwest winter never includes a white Christmas but we almost always see a few piles of snow in the new year. This year? Not so.

So far we’re having Spring. Lots of rain, warmer temps into the 40’s and low 50’s, and my dog keeps side-eyeing me in judgment, certainly wondering why we’re not up in the hills for our normal ‘spring’ adventures. Since she lacks the intelligence to comprehend why trekking through muddy trails is poor for the environment, I simply refrain from explaining and walk her on trails of pavement and sadness. So rude.

Having left my greenhouse to its doom for longer than was reasonable, I finally and begrudgingly decided to inspect the damage. The aforementioned weather brought along with it some uncharacteristic-for-January sunshine, and with that, I was out into the yard. (It’s a true miracle I didn’t plant something, let me tell you.)

Around the house and through the yard I dragged my greenhouse back toward my fenced off garden area on the south side. Then, picture if you will a woman of medium proportions HEAVING a giant plastic ball of piping and plastic over a garden fence. From there, I managed to right it, position it back in its spot near the back right corner of my garden area, and then stepped back and surveyed.

Aside from one or two points on the frame that had taken a bit of a beating, all seemed to be well. My gardening dream might live on after all.

Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash

Onward hoe and other terrible puns

My love for growing things and sustainable living runs deep, friends. Even when the Winds of Hell blow through my very suburban lifestyle, I still return to this love in full force. For example, the warmer winter weather has basically given me early onset Spring Fever.

And so it is with a quiet determination that I will replace my deceased plants who perished in the Winter Tornado of 2020 (RIP), re-establish my little greenhouse, and carry on. While Spring might not yet be in the air, it is just around the corner and for the first time ever, I have a place to start my seeds that isn’t in my kitchen or dining room for the kids and the dog to trample.

Bless.