Day One: One hour in the sun, two hours in the shade.
Day Two: Two hours in the sun, three hours in the shade.
Day Three: Three hours in the sun, four hours in the shade.
This is what hardening off looks like. It’s bringing my seedlings, my soft babied plants, up from the basement and slowly letting them acclimate to the outside.
It makes me feel a little crazy.
I set alarms on my phone, when to move into the shade, when to move back inside. I peek outside the window before I go out, hoping to avoid the neighbors seeing me move trays of plants around my yard. I visit them during the day, looking for squirrels and birds that may damage them. I place a large rubber snake nearby to guard them, its red eyes menacing, its tongue forked. My children seem to have multiplied. These are quieter, but the responsibility to keep so many things alive weighs on me.
I know they won’t all live. The zinnias and cosmos are tall and strong but the celosia that I planted in the same tray is still so new and small. I’ll probably kill it, I think as I set it out for its first hour in the sun. I’ve watched it slowly sprout over these past several weeks, only to probably kill it in this final step before planting.
But so much will live, I tell myself. So much will survive this week of hardening off, this week of harsher elements. It’s like exposure therapy, little by little my plants must feel the blinding sun, the sun that will eventually be their source to grow. A little discomfort is needed, a little more sun each day and a little more wind will strengthen them. They can’t stay in my basement forever, tucked under lights with a space heater for warmth. They are safe down there but they will never thrive, never bloom unless they can face what’s outside.