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I’m not disappearing again; I am working on a piece about literature that is taking longer than I expected. So, in the meantime, here’s a quick garden update.

Using store-bought potatoes, I eyed and planted a few small rows of red potatoes on Friday, March 4. A week later, I started several varieties indoors, one dozen “starts” each of the following:

Late Flat Dutch Cabbage
Nineveh Tomatoes
Reisentraube Tomatoes
Great White Tomatoes
Rutger Tomatoes
California Wonder Sweet Peppers
Chichiquelite Huckleberries

Yesterday, a packet of Sugar Snap Peas went in the ground, and I sowed a small patch of Bloomsdale Spinach.

As for the seed providers, SkyFire Garden Seeds again provided almost instant turn-around with no substitutions, a friendly note, and a free packet of seeds. Baker Creek Heirlooms proved slower but not untimely; I received my order, also with a free packet of seeds, about two weeks after placing it by mail. The order had one substitution and one notice of a variety no longer available (I declined a substitute on the one no longer available and a refund for it was included with the order).

My assessment is that both are good seed sources. For future plantings, I think I will order the tried-and-true staples from SkyFire Garden and rely on Baker Creek Heirlooms for anything else.

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Though it often feels like it, I realize I do not experience most things in this life alone. What I mean is, I’m not the only person to ever have experienced a given thing. Reknown author C. S. Lewis once noted, “Nothing, I suspect, is more astonishing in any man’s life than the discovery that there do exist people very, very like himself.” I’ve spent the majority of my life thinking I was alone in so many ways…only to discover I was only one of many, but a quiet many. The internet helped a great deal in those discoveries, as nothing is left unsaid somewhere in the vast unmonitored reaches of cyberspace.

But before the internet (yes, Virginia, there was life before internet) I found great companions in printed typeface and good books. And yes, Virginia, there used to be several good books published every year. I know they get more and more scarce all the time but there was a time you could walk right into a bookstore and find tomes worthy of reading on every shelf.

But I digress. In my innocent and ignorant youth, I stumbled upon a few authors who seemed to know exactly how and what to write. Like doctors setting bones, and if needed they knew just how to re-break things to help them heal. For better or worse, I don’t think any books, stories, articles, essays, etc. that I’ve read as an adult affected me as deeply as those of my younger days. Even today I often read my favorite authors of yore and find them as sharp and relevant as ever…proof, I believe, of a good and true author.

One, in particular, I really loved. That author honestly changed the course of my life on more than one occasion (and for the better). In an attempt to thank the writer, I labored over page after page of a letter expressing my most heartfelt appreciation … but never had the guts to mail it. Years later I wrote another, very similar letter, which met a very similar fate. And so it was every few years: wash, rinse, repeat. That person is still my favorite author … and I still have not sent a thank-you letter. Being a well-known figure, I’m sure other letters with likewise sentiment pour in on a regular basis… But I suppose I wanted it to be more than just fanmail, something with more meaning, even if I were the only person to ever read it.

And why go to so much trouble for someone I will never meet and who would never in a million years know I exist? For the gift of knowing I was not alone. At a time when I may as well have been the last person on Earth, a few pages full of words changed my world and showed me, unequivocably, that others had been to the same place and survived. That some were still there, as lost as I was, and that somehow we would find our way out. Those are pretty big stepping stones for a tween, a teenager, a young adult, and letter or no, I am eternally grateful.

To all those authors, and my friends along the way, and the family who had never left me, even when I feared they had … thank you.

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