陈小宁的博客

有苗不愁长

我家后阳台地方不大，但总想种点什么，一是填补阳台的空旷，而是有点东西养眼，或许也能有些收获，但多年下来所得的收获总量很少，家人说只够我照相当静物的，要说能吃到些瓜果蔬菜的话，也只能是起点缀作用，吃鲜可以，吃饱吃足总差一些。不过，总还抱着希望。

从几年前用几寸直径的吊盆收获了几十个草莓开始，如今已经有两个近二十寸的大盆和七、八个十寸左右的小盆，已经把阳台基本塞满了。所种的品种有西红柿和一些豆类，主要考虑种豆可以向上爬， 不用占太多的地面空间。而且，所种的不管是什么都会受到动物青睐，眼看着鹿围着植物，还有小鸟也会找中意的水果。好在也有许多蜜蜂来帮着授粉，多少能有些收获。

往年都用公家发的种子按合适的季节自己育苗，然后任其生长，因为种子质量不错。但是自己育苗需要技术，保暖、保湿，还要有足够的底肥，看到几个种瓜高手所育的苗自觉不光是自愧不如，真实情况是差得十万八千里。今年就向这些育苗高手讨些苗回来种。

今年在一个大盆中种了三棵苗，本来人家告诉我是什么苗了，但由于没有及时记下并且标识出来，后来就忘了品种，只能任其自由生长。后来到六七月其中的两颗就开始蓬勃发展，粗杆加上大叶，不久就看出端倪。

这是两颗南瓜，在浇水施肥都很及时和到位的精心培养下，它们长势喜人，给我带来希望。可也有美中不足，南瓜是在地上爬的植物，并不愿意爬高，而我只能让它在阳台内爬来爬去，一则是如果下地就没有铁丝网的保护，会很快成为动物的食物，再则割草的工人也不允许草地上有异物，这是住在这里要服从的公约。这样一来，它们就围着几个盆串着爬，不仅影响其他植物的生长，更要命的是它自己也没能展开拳脚，最后只有两个南瓜收获，虽然味道很好。

最要命的就是盆里的第三颗植物，叶子长出来一看就是豆类。可是在两颗壮实的南瓜边上既得不到阳光也得不到雨露，浇水施肥尽量照顾也没有用，盛夏之日倒是凉快，就是不往上长，一直处于生活的低谷之中，一熬就是一个整夏天，七、八片叶子，几寸的身高就像一个侏儒在一群正常人之中，不显山不露水，也不死不活地存在着。

就在盛夏在向初秋过度时，南瓜的叶子开始变黄，显然它的生长周期已经进入尾声，收获不多，两个长相不错的日本南瓜，纯天然产品。随着黄叶子越来越蔫，把环境搞得越来越难看，最后干脆就把它们除去。南瓜的藤很粗很结实，缠绕着旁边的隔离网，费了好大劲才除光，阳台显得亮堂不少，这个盆里也因主要植物没了显得清净，剩下的豆苗还活着，我还要时不时浇些水。

没过多少天，豆的苗就像打了鸡血一样，蹭蹭地往上窜，没过多久就从原先的几寸长长到好几尺，一直窜到阳台的天花板，杆虽然还很细，但隔不远就长出几片叶子，有些节还伸出长长的一段。又过了几天，明显地在开花之后开始结果。又过了几天能看出这是一株豇豆。

我开始庆幸没有放弃这颗小苗，此景也正好验证了有苗不愁长的说法。过去在一个小孩还长得不够高或不够帅时常用这句话安慰家长或当事人。记得当年去干校，有个同学显得矮小，一直到初中毕业还是那样，不料到了高中毕业时个子已经是班里平均身高之上。当然也有一些原本不矮的同学此时再也没拔高，只能寄托二十三窜一窜的希望了，当然结果都不理想。

再下去的几周内，豇豆很快结出果实，一次就收获了四、五根，再之后又是三、四根。豆秧一直在生长，到了屋顶又折回来，阳台的上空就属它有生气，旁边还有两颗水瓜，原先叶子长得都不错，也在一直结果，但明显地因为肥力不能顶到远端，几乎没有一个真正的果实。

看着远处已经红黄相间的秋景，这株豇豆虽然显得孤单，但在不多的几片叶子陪伴下的长长的豇豆还是令人满意的。

豇豆与南瓜在一个盆里，显然抢夺肥料的能力处于劣势，加上盆子的尺寸无法为它们提供足够大的生长空间，就造成了豇豆生不逢时受压抑的局面，好在坚忍没有让它放弃，终归还是熬过了南瓜的生长周期，最后就像老来得子一般，也走过了完美的一生。

生死有命富贵在天，错误的时期遇到不能相佐的同伴，只能靠有苗不愁长的信念走向成功。

Seedlings That Grow Surely Don’t Need to Worry

Our back balcony isn’t large, but I always want to grow something there. First, it fills the empty space, and second, it adds a bit of greenery to enjoy—maybe even some harvest. But after many years, my total yield has always been small. My family says it’s barely enough for me to use as still-life for photos. As for actually eating the fruits and vegetables, they serve more as decorations than anything; they’re fresh, yes, but far from plentiful. Still, I hold onto hope.

It all started a few years ago with a hanging pot just a few inches in diameter, from which I harvested dozens of strawberries. Now, I have two large pots about twenty inches in diameter and seven or eight smaller pots around ten inches each, filling most of the balcony. I’ve planted tomatoes and some beans, mainly because beans can climb upward without taking up much ground space. However, no matter what I plant, animals are inevitably drawn to it. Deer gather around, and birds pick out their favorite fruits. Luckily, plenty of bees come to help with pollination, so I manage to harvest a bit.

Each year, I use seeds distributed by the local community, germinating them in the right season and letting them grow. The seed quality has always been good. But nurturing seedlings requires some skill—maintaining warmth, moisture, and a solid base of fertilizer. When I see the thriving seedlings that expert gardeners grow, I feel not just a little outdone but leagues behind. This year, I asked a few experts for seedlings instead.

In one of the large pots, I planted three seedlings. Although I was initially told what they were, I forgot to label them, so I lost track of the varieties and just let them grow freely. By June or July, two of them started to flourish with thick stems and large leaves, and soon, I could tell what they were.

These were two squash plants. With attentive watering and fertilization, they grew vigorously, filling me with hope. But there was a downside—squash plants like to spread along the ground rather than climb. I had to keep them crawling around the balcony instead. If I let them go to the ground, they’d quickly become food for animals without wire netting for protection, and the lawn workers wouldn’t tolerate plants on the grass anyway, as that’s part of our community rules. So, they ended up tangling around the pots, crowding out other plants. The unfortunate thing was that the squash itself couldn’t grow freely either, resulting in only two squashes in the end—though they tasted great.

The most challenging situation was with the third plant in the pot. Its leaves clearly showed it was a bean. But nestled next to the robust squash plants, it neither got sunlight nor nutrients. I tried my best to water and fertilize it, but nothing helped. While the summer heat lingered, the bean plant was cool in the squash’s shadow, yet it didn’t grow upward, staying in a low, stagnant state. It endured a whole summer like this, with only seven or eight leaves and a few inches tall, like a dwarf among normal plants, neither standing out nor withering, just existing.

As summer turned to early autumn, the squash leaves began to yellow, signaling the end of their growth cycle. The harvest wasn’t much—just two handsome Japanese squashes, completely organic. With the leaves wilting and making the environment unsightly, I finally decided to remove the squash plants altogether. Their vines, thick and sturdy, were tangled in the surrounding netting. It took a lot of effort to clear them, but the balcony felt brighter and more spacious. With the main plants gone from the pot, the lone bean plant was left, so I continued to water it now and then.

A few days later, the bean plant shot up as if injected with vigor, growing several feet in no time, reaching the balcony ceiling. Although its stem was still slender, leaves sprouted regularly along it, and some nodes even extended. Soon after, it blossomed and bore fruit, and I realized it was a yardlong bean plant.

I felt fortunate not to have given up on that small seedling, and this scene perfectly illustrated the saying, “Seedlings that grow surely don’t need to worry.” In the past, this phrase was used to comfort parents or kids who weren’t tall or good-looking. I remember during my time at a rural school, one classmate appeared short and small, even up to middle school graduation. Unexpectedly, by high school graduation, he was taller than average in our class. Of course, some classmates who were originally not short had also stopped growing and could only hope for a growth spurt at twenty-three, though it never happened.

In the following weeks, the yardlong bean plant bore fruit rapidly, with a yield of four or five beans at once, then another three or four soon after. The vine kept growing, curling back from the roof, becoming the liveliest presence on the balcony. Alongside it were two water spinach plants, which had once flourished but, because the nutrients couldn’t reach the far ends, barely bore any real fruit.

Looking out at the autumn scenery, a mix of red and yellow, the yardlong bean vine may appear solitary, but with its long beans and the companionship of a few leaves, it’s a satisfying sight.

The yardlong bean and squash shared a pot, but the bean had clearly been at a disadvantage in competing for nutrients. The pot wasn’t large enough to provide ample room, leading to the bean’s stunted, oppressed growth. Fortunately, its resilience kept it going, allowing it to outlast the squash’s growth cycle and, like an old parent blessed with a child in later life, complete a full and fruitful life.

Life and death are fated, wealth and status determined by heaven. Meeting incompatible companions at an inopportune time may only be overcome by the belief that “seedlings that grow surely don’t need to worry” to find success.