Warmth, The Pitt, and New Greenhouse Guilt
Today’s high was 55°F, and it’s the middle of February. I mean, I’ll take it, but weather like that always carries the foreboding weight of climate change. Still, I stepped outside without a jacket (ahhhh!). More importantly, I went out in sandals—with socks, of course. After searching almost fruitlessly for signs of plant life, I completed one small winter gardening task: I replaced the windblown tarp on my greenhouse.
“Replace” really just means I draped its tattered remains back over the frame. I also sutured the holes and burst seams with heavy duty green duct tape. I took care to ensure the tape adhered the tarp to the skeleton so it wouldn’t fly away again.
As an avid watcher of The Pitt, this process gave me an unearned feeling of caring for a minor motorcycle crash.
Life support or painless death?
For all we hear about plastic taking hundreds of years to break down, so much of this tarp has disintegrated. Well, numerous pieces have just fallen off and gotten smaller - different from biodegrading. Were it not for the tape holding it together, it would just be an awkward flag waving a surrender.
It makes me sad. I bought this greenhouse when I was pregnant. We were both houses growing life together. When my husband and I moved back to Chicago to be closer to family, the greenhouse came with us. The long Midwestern winters didn’t feel quite as endless with my greenhouse friend. I remember friends stepping inside and remarking how much it “smelled like a greenhouse,” not realizing what high praise that was. In summer, when moths, butterflies, and bees sheltered there, it became a cozy hobbit hole for more than just me.
But between the shredded holes and ripped seams, it no longer functions as a real greenhouse. There’s too much ventilation and not enough warmth. Can I just leave it on life support? Is that any kind of life for a greenhouse? Unfortunately, it didn’t leave me end-of-life directives.
I suppose that means I have power of attorney to decide: should I try to extend its life for another season (that’s what I said last year). Or do I need to get a new one?
What next?
I’ve always wanted one of those greenhouses made of old windows. But I’ve accepted that I really can’t stand woodworking. I lack the skill and have never been interested in spending the time, money, and resources to learn. And I need a greenhouse this spring. Trying to convince my husband - who is more skilled than I, but perhaps not skilled enough - to build one before the growing season would be an act of futility.
So today, I am ashamed to say that I took advantage of my husband’s flu-addled brain and discussed the decrepitness of my greenhouse. He glanced at the reassembled greenhouse and urged me to order a new one. Which I did quickly before practicality and the realization of other expenses changed our minds.
Fortunately, my search for a hobby greenhouse - something I do more often than I care to admit - yielded better options than usual. The greenhouse market is odd and ever-changing. Has demand increased? Is winter a cheaper time to buy a greenhouse? Are new companies entering the space with lower prices? I don’t know and I don’t care. A reasonable cost and reviews promising easy assembly? Done.
Let it be said, I always search for ‘used greenhouses near me’, but it’s never fruitful. I might be the only insane one who wants a greenhouse in this region.
All the feels…
But y’all, I feel a lot of guilt about buying a greenhouse new. I see the demand for fresh plastic I’ve created, and I imagine the eventual decomposition struggle - hundreds of years long - when this one finally collapses. Fingers crossed that’s more than a decade away.
Still, I know I considered the alternatives, and they don’t work. And I know the sustainability benefits a greenhouse provides. Sowing and growing from seed supports more sustainable gardening: reusing nursery pots, reducing the air miles of store-bought plants, and maintaining control over growing materials (organic and peat-free, y’all). The one I picked also has gutters so I can collect rainwater. Plus, I’ll be able to reuse the shelving from the old greenhouse - part of it will live on. Maybe I could even repurpose the tarp as cloches over my raised beds.
In this age of consumerism, I’m ever at odds with negotiating need vs want - between buying new vs recycling vs repurposing vs going without. Maybe a logic based approach - weighing benefits, repercussions (not just for myself) - is a decent mechanism by which to address the complicated line separating a “good” new purchase from a “bad” new purchase.
It’s not perfect. But in the long run, I think the positives will balance the negatives.
That’ll do pig.
So with grief and guilt, it's out with the old, in with the new. Between these two heavy weights, sits a sharp edge of excitement. I might even have the heaviness to thank for that - it’s something akin to Truvy’s “laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.”
I’ve moved through the complicated labyrinth of a gloomy choice and guilt-ridden purchase and landed on solid ground. I answered every ‘what if?’, ‘can’t I?’, and ‘how about…’ until only one option remained: buy the new damn greenhouse, girl!
And enjoy the crap out of it. Because if I don’t, that would be a real waste.