This is my first year planting from saved seed.  Last fall, I saved seed from three heirloom tomato varieties, and last week I needed to get them going.  I’m behind.  I should have been doing this in March so I could have six-inch-tall seedlings ready to be transplanted into the garden around now.

Oh well.  Life is too hectic and, as if in correlation, my apartment is too small.  It’s not small as far as New York apartments go, but it’s definitely too small as far as starting seeds indoors goes.  This is our only South-facing window, the only place I could start seeds without reliance on artificial lighting and, really, about the only open spot in the apartment to begin with.  It’s also a favorite sunning spot for the cats.  That pot to the left once contained a mum so vibrant that it could be killed only by Bruce’s laconic insistence on curling into a doughnut on top of it over, and over, and over again.

So what’s a guy to do?

Hang the boys from the ceiling.

This is when being a pathological recycler bears fruit.

I found an old shelf under the couch. Starting holes with an awl and hammer, I screwed six hooks into the shelf (one in each corner and one in the middle of each side) and screwed corresponding hooks into the window frame.

Then I suspended the shell with twine, checked things with a level, and went about getting the seeds ready.  When reusing pots from the previous year, it’s important to clean out any trace of contagion.  That means rinsing things down with a mild bleach solution and then washing that off with very hot water.

The next move is to line your pots with coffee filters.  This is a trick I learned from my mother; the coffee filter keeps dirt from falling out of the drainage holes (if you’re using plastic jugs and such, make sure you punch holes) while still allowing the water to escape.  Once you’ve got your soil and seeds in, wrap the pots in plastic.  This effectively creates a greenhouse and keeps the soil moist. Remove the pots from the covering as soon as their seedlings start raising their heads so they don’t mold, keep everything warm and wet, and once the plants are hardy enough, get them in the ground outside or transplant to bigger pots if you don’t have dirt to play in.

And now, hung seven feet off the ground and a full four feet from the fat cats’ window perch, my South-facing upstarts don’t have to worry about getting enough sun, getting in the way, or getting turned into bedding for one of the implacable, untameable beasts we call our house cats.