Despite the rock-hard ground outside, the sun’s strength optimistically proclaims the official return of spring. So today, I scooch into the attic in search of my seed-starting equipment.

After saturating the “soilless” soil mix with water and spooning it into little plastic cells, I divvy up the seed packets, assigning each to the indoor neighbors it will have as it grows in the flats for the next two months.

I regard with awe the various forms of my seeds: teensie round balls, wispy threads, papery amorphous particles. The tiny black seeds that will grow into aromatic and lush basil—about the size of the period at the end of this sentence—store much information: the size and shape its root, stem, and leaves will take;  instructions for manufacturing the phytocompounds that combine to deliver the taste I know as “basil.”

Somehow, every year, these minute dots transform themselves into the flavor of summer: basil on fresh tomatoes and a bit of mozzarella, basil leaves tucked into sandwiches, pesto atop veggie burgers, tossed with pasta, dolloped atop a strip of salmon, grilled with chicken and vegetables. Mmm.

I move to the next packet and the next and the next. Each year I try something new, an experiment or different variety. A three-dollar packet of seeds yields twelve or fifteen, fifty or even a hundred healthy plants, a good deal.

Last year I explored the world of amaranth, planting five different varieties and creating a somewhat messy, but vibrant veggie garden. Amaranth grows into gorgeous five-foot tall plumes of vibrant magenta and golden flowers. The Mayans grew it as a wonder food, serving the leaves as a tasty and nutritious vegetable, with the nutty-flavored grain providing much of their nutrient needs.

Once the Mayans were “conquered,” the Spanish invaders banned growing amaranth and the grain all but disappeared. Now, thanks to heirloom seed collectors, amaranth is available again. I haven’t yet figured out how to separate the grain from the chaff, and much of last year’s harvest sits in a big tub in an unheated storeroom. However, I’ve already chosen a spot for this year’s crop.

Broccoli heads my list of challenges for 2006, as I plan to guard that vegetable with vengeance. From the groundhog. Last year, I bought a six-pack at my favorite garden store. Within a week, it had been nibbled to the ground. I bought another six-pack to replace the damaged plants. Soon, twelve broccoli plants grew. Again, Grover moved in and pruned them. They began growing again.

Working from home allows me to monitor the site a bit. How many phone calls did I handle while sitting in front of Grover’s bunker, seething and throwing pebbles. We had lengthy conversations, as he sat within a wall of boulders I am unable and unwilling to disassemble. He had found a heavenly home, safe and near a great, replenishing food source.

I tried a primal growling-shouting-flailing of arms, stewed up and sprayed a nasty mixture of cayenne and other spices. I tried jumping-jack firecrackers. We bought a Havahart trap. Gil marked the territory as his. We even set up our solar-powered radio near Grover’s hole, hoping that news of the world would chase him away.

Making the site undesirable seemed the best thing to do in this situation. We tried. But mostly we shared. Still, from our 12 plants, we did manage to harvest a little broccoli; in fact two baggies sit in the freezer still, right next to that pesto. This year the broccoli will grow in an undisclosed location. Shh.

I plant tomatoes in containers, each with a fragrant, yellow marigold and a spindly shadowed dill plant. I find that companion planting makes an amazing difference. Since including a dill plant, I haven’t seen an evil tomato hornworm. As I sprinkle tomato seeds into the planting cells, I think about the yummy dehydrated tomatoes in stir-fries, salads, and pasta dishes. I glow when I look at the jars filled with last year’s tomatoes stewed and sitting on the pantry shelves—sixteen quarts left at the end of March.

I move on, sowing flats of cilantro and parley, celery, dill, fennel, cumin, angelica, feverfew, chamomile, and Swiss chard. I’ll sow many more vegetables directly into the garden once the soil thaws.

Today, I finish with a whole flat of cosmos. These pert and cheery flowers are my favorites; they grow readily in the soil outside and I’ll toss another few packets of seed there when the soil warms. However, I don’t want to wait for their dainty grace until midsummer. I want them blooming as early as possible.

With more than 300 seeds now germinating, I feel optimistic about spring. Each year my garden expands into different spots on our property, as well as into a wider variety of containers. Despite my concerns of the loss of local control over many of our food sources, I feel empowered by producing food for my family.

And I appreciate the way my garden connects me to the earth and its creatures - yeah, even to Grover and his relatives.

By Laura Richardson, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

3/24/06