Forwarded from Mezlim
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Summer’s calling 🍑🍑🍑Farmers market this weekend? 👩🌾🧑🌾👨🏼🌾
👍1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Water the babies! 💧💦🍇🍓🫐🍋🍊🌶🍆🥒🥬🥦🌽🥕🍒🍑🥭🌱
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
❤1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Water the babies! 💧💦🍇🍓🫐🍋🍊🌶🍆🥒🥬🥦🌽🥕🍒🍑🥭🌱
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
❤1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Water the babies! 💧💦🍇🍓🫐🍋🍊🌶🍆🥒🥬🥦🌽🥕🍒🍑🥭🌱
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
❤1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Water the babies! 💧💦🍇🍓🫐🍋🍊🌶🍆🥒🥬🥦🌽🥕🍒🍑🥭🌱
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
❤1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Water the babies! 💧💦🍇🍓🫐🍋🍊🌶🍆🥒🥬🥦🌽🥕🍒🍑🥭🌱
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
🎃Summer 🌸 Gardening 👩🌾 2026 is Mandatory #Homework
Have you’ve begun????
❤2
Forwarded from Azazel News (Aries)
Like Boss says
Rationing is a Myth
Be Selfish!!!!
Hoarding is a Myth!!!!
Hoarding is a myth, Hoarding myth is used so Goverments can have someone to blame and not acknowledge that rationing must take place due to a break down in the supply chain.
Boss
Rationing is a Myth
Be Selfish!!!!
Hoarding is a Myth!!!!
Hoarding is a myth, Hoarding myth is used so Goverments can have someone to blame and not acknowledge that rationing must take place due to a break down in the supply chain.
Boss
Forwarded from Azazel News (Aries)
Task A
Keep food prepping
Do it for funsies
1. Go to Twitter.
2. Write: Shortage stock up
3. Read "Top" tweets, see date.
4. Sort by "Latest", read tweets.
5. Analyze Intel.
6. Draw a hypothesis for the next 6 months.
Keep food prepping
Do it for funsies
1. Go to Twitter.
2. Write: Shortage stock up
3. Read "Top" tweets, see date.
4. Sort by "Latest", read tweets.
5. Analyze Intel.
6. Draw a hypothesis for the next 6 months.
Forwarded from Azazel News (Aries)
Task B
Take the #GoodwillChallenge.
Go check out your local Goodwill, Salvation Army, or locally owned and operated thrift store to hunt down SHTF supplies.
See what you can find to put your upcycling skills to the test. Can you repurpose what you find?
This will be an important skill to cultivate in the event of an emergency or a supply chain collapse.
Take the challenge and practice now while you have time.
People in Hurricane areas know this too well
You might have a generator but you hook it for some lights and the fridge. If its really powerful maybe AC or fans, but the little electric appliances cannot be used
Things like pressure cooker that can be place over charcoal
Cast irons, mason jars, hunting knifes, books, electronics,
Take the #GoodwillChallenge.
Go check out your local Goodwill, Salvation Army, or locally owned and operated thrift store to hunt down SHTF supplies.
See what you can find to put your upcycling skills to the test. Can you repurpose what you find?
This will be an important skill to cultivate in the event of an emergency or a supply chain collapse.
Take the challenge and practice now while you have time.
People in Hurricane areas know this too well
You might have a generator but you hook it for some lights and the fridge. If its really powerful maybe AC or fans, but the little electric appliances cannot be used
Things like pressure cooker that can be place over charcoal
Cast irons, mason jars, hunting knifes, books, electronics,
❤1
Forwarded from Mezlim
Spring Gardening Jobs 🌸
Here is a shorter, more concise version that keeps the essence, poetic tone, depth, and key seasonal tasks:
Spring arrives not with certainty, but through negotiation—fragments of thaw, green shoots testing the ground. The air softens then sharpens; light stretches, yet cold lingers. The garden stirs, not all at once, but enough to signal change. To enter it now is to feel quiet urgency: everything beginning, nothing guaranteed.
The first task is attention. Touch the soil, test its texture, temperature, and drainage. Many gardeners run a quick soil test early on, amending pH or nutrients as needed. When it yields under your fingers, fold in dark, living compost and rebuild tired beds. Pull back mulch in spots to warm the soil for early sowings.
Sowing begins with cool-season crops—peas, spinach, radishes, carrots, beets, lettuce, Swiss chard—pressed or scattered while the air still bites. Indoors, start tomatoes, peppers, herbs, and eggplants under grow lights. Harden them off gradually as days lengthen, exposing them briefly to wind and sun.
Restraint shapes spring’s rhythm. Frost waits to punish haste, so cover tender starts on cold nights and watch forecasts closely. Patience is rewarded; assumption punished.
Clear winter remnants—cut back collapsed stems and sodden leaves, but leave some debris for overwintering insects. Return the rest to compost. Pull early weeds while small, hoe lightly to disrupt others.
Divide overcrowded perennials—hostas, daylilies, coneflowers—giving each clump space to thrive. Plant new bareroot perennials or strawberries now. Set supports early: stakes, trellises for peas, beans, climbers. Inspect and repair irrigation so young roots never go thirsty.
Water is both gift and duty—monitor uneven rains, avoid drowning or starving new life. Weeds surge first; lift them young. Pests arrive—aphids, slugs—met carefully to preserve balance.
The garden awakens with bees, birds, the scent of turned earth and opening green. It is not summer’s fullness, but unmistakably alive.
Spring is promise held in fragile balance: abundance in its infancy. It teaches attention, timing, restraint. Prepare, sow, wait, adjust. Accept that some will fail, others surge, and no season follows the plan exactly. In that uncertainty lies a sharp, quiet joy.
Even without a garden, spring invites you: notice what returns, begin before you feel ready, tend the small and uncertain, trust it may grow. Spring is not given; it is built, moment by moment, through presence and care. In answering, you join the slow act of renewal.
Here is a shorter, more concise version that keeps the essence, poetic tone, depth, and key seasonal tasks:
Spring arrives not with certainty, but through negotiation—fragments of thaw, green shoots testing the ground. The air softens then sharpens; light stretches, yet cold lingers. The garden stirs, not all at once, but enough to signal change. To enter it now is to feel quiet urgency: everything beginning, nothing guaranteed.
The first task is attention. Touch the soil, test its texture, temperature, and drainage. Many gardeners run a quick soil test early on, amending pH or nutrients as needed. When it yields under your fingers, fold in dark, living compost and rebuild tired beds. Pull back mulch in spots to warm the soil for early sowings.
Sowing begins with cool-season crops—peas, spinach, radishes, carrots, beets, lettuce, Swiss chard—pressed or scattered while the air still bites. Indoors, start tomatoes, peppers, herbs, and eggplants under grow lights. Harden them off gradually as days lengthen, exposing them briefly to wind and sun.
Restraint shapes spring’s rhythm. Frost waits to punish haste, so cover tender starts on cold nights and watch forecasts closely. Patience is rewarded; assumption punished.
Clear winter remnants—cut back collapsed stems and sodden leaves, but leave some debris for overwintering insects. Return the rest to compost. Pull early weeds while small, hoe lightly to disrupt others.
Divide overcrowded perennials—hostas, daylilies, coneflowers—giving each clump space to thrive. Plant new bareroot perennials or strawberries now. Set supports early: stakes, trellises for peas, beans, climbers. Inspect and repair irrigation so young roots never go thirsty.
Water is both gift and duty—monitor uneven rains, avoid drowning or starving new life. Weeds surge first; lift them young. Pests arrive—aphids, slugs—met carefully to preserve balance.
The garden awakens with bees, birds, the scent of turned earth and opening green. It is not summer’s fullness, but unmistakably alive.
Spring is promise held in fragile balance: abundance in its infancy. It teaches attention, timing, restraint. Prepare, sow, wait, adjust. Accept that some will fail, others surge, and no season follows the plan exactly. In that uncertainty lies a sharp, quiet joy.
Even without a garden, spring invites you: notice what returns, begin before you feel ready, tend the small and uncertain, trust it may grow. Spring is not given; it is built, moment by moment, through presence and care. In answering, you join the slow act of renewal.
Forwarded from Mezlim
The Last Days of Spring 🌺🌸☀️
The last days of spring carry a different feeling than its beginning. The urgency of sowing fades. Beds once bare are now crowded with growth. The garden no longer asks what might happen—it begins to reveal what has.
The light lingers well into evening. Temperatures settle. The soil, once cold and reluctant, now holds warmth. Peas climb their supports, lettuce fills out, strawberries ripen, and the first flowers draw bees in steady numbers. The season shifts from preparation to stewardship.
This is a time to finish what spring started. Succession sow quick crops such as beans, basil, dill, cucumbers, and summer squash. Transplant warm-season vegetables if they are not already in the ground. Mulch beds deeply to preserve moisture and suppress the weeds that rise with increasing heat.
Support becomes as important as planting. Tie tomatoes, guide climbing vines, and inspect stakes and trellises before growth overtakes them. Water deeply rather than often, encouraging roots to reach downward in search of resilience.
Deadhead spring blooms to prolong flowering. Divide attention between harvest and maintenance. Pull weeds before they seed. Watch for early signs of pests and disease, intervening before small problems become seasonal battles.
The garden is changing character. Spring’s tenderness gives way to summer’s confidence. What was once fragile becomes vigorous. Growth accelerates. Days feel abundant, yet the gardener knows this abundance is temporary and must be tended.
The final days of spring invite reflection. Some seeds never germinated. Some plants exceeded every expectation. Every garden tells a different story, shaped by weather, timing, chance, and care.
Soon summer will arrive fully—bringing harvests, heat, long evenings, and the steady work of keeping everything alive through the season’s peak. For now, stand among the growing beds and notice what has emerged.
The last days of spring are not an ending. They are a threshold. A reminder that every season spends weeks becoming the next, and that the most meaningful changes often happen so gradually they are only visible when you stop long enough to look.
The last days of spring carry a different feeling than its beginning. The urgency of sowing fades. Beds once bare are now crowded with growth. The garden no longer asks what might happen—it begins to reveal what has.
The light lingers well into evening. Temperatures settle. The soil, once cold and reluctant, now holds warmth. Peas climb their supports, lettuce fills out, strawberries ripen, and the first flowers draw bees in steady numbers. The season shifts from preparation to stewardship.
This is a time to finish what spring started. Succession sow quick crops such as beans, basil, dill, cucumbers, and summer squash. Transplant warm-season vegetables if they are not already in the ground. Mulch beds deeply to preserve moisture and suppress the weeds that rise with increasing heat.
Support becomes as important as planting. Tie tomatoes, guide climbing vines, and inspect stakes and trellises before growth overtakes them. Water deeply rather than often, encouraging roots to reach downward in search of resilience.
Deadhead spring blooms to prolong flowering. Divide attention between harvest and maintenance. Pull weeds before they seed. Watch for early signs of pests and disease, intervening before small problems become seasonal battles.
The garden is changing character. Spring’s tenderness gives way to summer’s confidence. What was once fragile becomes vigorous. Growth accelerates. Days feel abundant, yet the gardener knows this abundance is temporary and must be tended.
The final days of spring invite reflection. Some seeds never germinated. Some plants exceeded every expectation. Every garden tells a different story, shaped by weather, timing, chance, and care.
Soon summer will arrive fully—bringing harvests, heat, long evenings, and the steady work of keeping everything alive through the season’s peak. For now, stand among the growing beds and notice what has emerged.
The last days of spring are not an ending. They are a threshold. A reminder that every season spends weeks becoming the next, and that the most meaningful changes often happen so gradually they are only visible when you stop long enough to look.