With apologies to friends whose gardens may
currently be buried under two or more feet of snow (yes, Jane, I do mean you),
this is early February on Gabriola.
Last autumn, to celebrate my land (and rock) scaping work out
back, I planted dozens of daffodil bulbs. They are the only thing bloody deer
absolutely, positively will not eat. It may not be easily discernible from the
photo below, but they’re coming along nicely. Friends on the island who get
more rather more sun than I do this time of year, already have daffs in bloom.
(Again, sorry, Jane.)
Something new for this year. For the first time
ever, I have a sort-of greenhouse. A friend on the island who has one like this
swears it does the job, so I figured I’d go mad and splurge fifty bucks on one.
Despite the dozens of pieces arriving in a box without instructions, I managed to
figure out how to put the frame together.
When I started unfolding the cover I was suddenly
reminded of the toxics talk roadshow I did around BC back in the 1990s. At one
point I would always ask: “Has anyone here ever pulled a PVC shower curtain out
of the package and felt as if you were being gassed?” Invariably there would be
a couple of nods. And then I’d say: “You were.” I would then explain about the
various component chemicals in PVC that escaped as soon as the plastic was
unfolded.
Oh, crap, I thought the other day. The plastic cover
for my mini-greenhouse is PVC. Why didn’t I think to check?
And then I thought, am I really going to take the
whole thing apart and try to send it back for a refund? Is there any chance I
could get a refund? Almost definitely not.
And then I wondered what sort of chemicals were
likely to leach out of the PVC when the sun got on it and what might those
chemicals do to any seedlings sprouted inside it for my supposedly pesticide-free
garden?
And then I poured myself a drink.
We shall see.
