You can shine all the buttons on your green shirt

I caved and bought a hoop house, and not a modest one.  I could live inside it.  I have, in fact, lived in smaller spaces, as has been well documented on this very web site.  Here’s a general schedule of our first few days with it:

Friday:  assemble hoop house.

Saturday morning:  eagerly move scrawny, desperately sun-searching seedlings into hoop house.  Install thermometer and hose.  Watch hourly and document temperature change as the seedling soil ruptures and the new leaves pop open in time-lapse fashion.  Watch the temperature reach triple digits and high-five melon seedlings.  This will be our year.

Saturday night:  haul everything back in, because of course in my excitement I might also have planted a hundred or so new seeds, and because it still gets down around freezing at night, even in the hoop house.

Sunday morning:  move newly invigorated seedlings back into hoop house.  Meticulously arrange contents of hoop house in a way that the contents of any of my living quarters have never seen.  Watch again as the temperature reaches degrees that would make any Vermont-born thermometer melt, while the seedlings lap it up.

Sunday evening: again dash everything inside, where flats and treys now cover the freezers, the tables, the appliances, the drum set, and the squirrel’s bed.

Monday morning:  wake up to snow. Greenhouse maxes out at 45 degrees.  Curse everything.  Seedlings shake their fists at the skies.

In any event, I can’t tell if this means I’ve become a yuppie or I’ve really committed to growing vegetables.  Possibly both.  Possibly, if I keep up this attitude, I’ll end up living in there.  Which would be okay, given how nicely organized things are there.