I caved and bought a hoop house, and not a modest one. I could live inside it. I have, in fact, lived in smaller spaces, as has been well documented on this very web site. Here’s a general schedule of our first few days with it:
Friday: assemble hoop house.
Saturday morning: eagerly move scrawny, desperately sun-searching seedlings into hoop house. Install thermometer and hose. Watch hourly and document temperature change as the seedling soil ruptures and the new leaves pop open in time-lapse fashion. Watch the temperature reach triple digits and high-five melon seedlings. This will be our year.
Saturday night: haul everything back in, because of course in my excitement I might also have planted a hundred or so new seeds, and because it still gets down around freezing at night, even in the hoop house.
Sunday morning: move newly invigorated seedlings back into hoop house. Meticulously arrange contents of hoop house in a way that the contents of any of my living quarters have never seen. Watch again as the temperature reaches degrees that would make any Vermont-born thermometer melt, while the seedlings lap it up.
Sunday evening: again dash everything inside, where flats and treys now cover the freezers, the tables, the appliances, the drum set, and the squirrel’s bed.
Monday morning: wake up to snow. Greenhouse maxes out at 45 degrees. Curse everything. Seedlings shake their fists at the skies.
In any event, I can’t tell if this means I’ve become a yuppie or I’ve really committed to growing vegetables. Possibly both. Possibly, if I keep up this attitude, I’ll end up living in there. Which would be okay, given how nicely organized things are there.