Sweet Pea Ploy

The seeds wrapped in dirt, paper towl, plastic, and, finally, ice

In the four years I've lived here, I've planted sweet peas every spring. Not a seed has sprouted. I plant them nice and early because they love to germinate in the frosty earth. I've tried everything except playing violin sonatas for them as they brood upon themselves underground, but nothing.  This year their obduracy finally pissed me off enough to take them on big time. And I've won!

OK, so they want it cold?  I soaked the littled bastards overnight in a cupful of water in the refrigerator. I took a sheet of paper towel and put a tasty rill of potting soil down the center of it. I sprinkled a line of seeds down the rill and rolled up the towel so they were swaddled in a sausage of soil, sealed it up in a plastic bag, and put the whole thing into a gratinee dish, where I piled on a couple of trays of ice cubes. For a week I've changed the ice cubes often, and today I allowed myself a peek in the dirt. Ha! Several miniscule, pallid prongs have elbowed their way out of their casings!

I love the feelings of shifting gears into determination that leads to victory.