Our seed orders are being filled and some little bubble-wrapped envelopes are appearing in the mailbox.  This year, fearful that I would be tempted to go overboard,  I practiced tremendous restraint by repeating the mantra “thrift, thrift thrift” as I prepared my list.  I  now grow suspicious that I may have erred on the side of stinginess. Andrew will remind me that our seed stock from last year is still filled to the brim and that’s only counting the shoebox storage. He will not remind me (because he will not tell me) that all those bits of brown paper bags that I notice peeking out of the baskets above the hutch (which I am too short to reach and too lazy to go through the effort of accessing) contain seeds that he’s indiscriminately saved. F1 hybrid? Open-pollinated? Oh its all the same to him in his experimental science-project world of gardening. Of course there are those lupine seeds that we surreptitiously swiped from the roadside on Campobello Island last year. Will they be blue? Pink? Who knows.. not having the best track record with lupines we’ll be lucky if we find out. At this point I’m tempted to forego all the fuss and just fling the seeds on top of the snow in the general vicinity of where we want them to be as this seems to be how they propagate on their own in nature. I doubt the germination rates could be any lower than those in our greenhouse.