Here's an example. New friend Brad (below) saw this blog and said: I want to do that. Lacking tools, he emailed Bruce to see if he'd share some for drilling out a few SIPs. Brad wasn't sure where Bruce lived but gave it a shot.
And it turns out they live a scant five blocks apart. Here's Bruce and Brad, with his newly produced five-gallon SIPs (buckets secured from Whole Foods), standing in front of the partly shingled
chicken coop.
I met Brad when I arrived to start transplanting the 200+ seedlings that needed to go into larger pots, among them a diverse selection of basil (below), pepper, and eggplant.
He generously volunteered to assist (muchas gracias), and we quickly established a groove, forking up seedlings, labeling grow cups, and re-establishing plants for their final four-week stint under the indoor grow lights. Click this photo to see a trio of extra-vital pepper seedlings, thanks to Bruce planting three seeds for every one requested.
He hedged his bets and as a result we have many extras to share.
In the middle of this, other friend Brad (who
blogged this week about his expansive SIP-laden rooftop), stopped by to say hello with own his tiny sprout in tow. (Is GRG being taken over by Brads? We can only hope.)
Talk turned to SIP growing, a hot pepper called
Lucifer's Dream (thanks for the seeds, Debbie), seedling sharing, new-friend Brad's southern-exposure deck, old-friend Brad's rooftop cold frames. And homebrew, a project both Brads are immersed in.
Is there a summer tomato-tasting, homebrew toasting in our future? Most excellently, yes.
In this way and many others,
growing food not only infects us but connects us.