sooner than expected

I was not expecting this quite yet:

Or this:

I wonder how long it will take to get from that to ripe cherry tomatoes and miniature peppers. We'll see!

(Yes that is a crossbow bolt (and yes I used long bolts when I shot). My first try at tomato stakes got me something that's way too big. I'm waiting for try #2 to arrive.)

Here are the others, as a comparison to last week.

I moved the smaller pepper into a larger pot since it wasn't doing as well as its sibling, and I then moved one of the two basil plants sharing a pot into the vacated pot. I'm done moving things; whatever happens happens.

That rosemary in the red pot on the top step does not seem to be thriving. It's not failing; it's just not growing, near as I can tell. It's not as good a pot as the others. The pot and the plant both came from Home Depot. If it doesn't grow, oh well -- the rosemary it already has would cost more as produce in the store than the plant, pot, and soil did. The smaller rosemary (in the plum-colored pot) seems to be doing better.

modern threats

Wow, just wow.

I read this thread on Twitter, and I'm going to quote parts of it but you should go read the whole thing. This should not be such recent history, dammit.

I started Girl Scouts in first grade and was an active scout until I was 17 (12th grade)—did ALL the GS stuff and loved my scouting experience. I was a GS national delegate.

My troop, 1001, was in Detroit and almost all black.

Our leaders were Black women and they genuinely loved us. Because they loved us, we did ALL the GS things: we sold cookies, and earned badges, and did community service, and went camping.

We would drive a VERY LONG TIME (at least to a 9 year old) and end up at the campgrounds. And then we’d learn the camp rules and review the Girl Scout requirements: leave a space better than you found it, clean your trash, be kind, have fun. And we did all those things.

Last night I talked to my best friend, whose mom was one of our leaders and camp chaperones. We were talking about camp, and her mom mentioned staying up with two other moms all night, taking stations at each door and window of our cabin and having night watch.

Night watch? I asked, genuinely confused. What kind of bears did y’all think were going to open the door of our cabin and eat us? I asked, jokingly.

She got quiet. “Not bears,” she said, “the Klan.”

But, they wanted us to experience ALL the experiences Girl Scouts have. They just had night watch so we could. So they stood watch—all night. In the 90s. -- dst6n01