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Well kids, I think I've just been had
Before I head off to exercise and do some more tidying, I just want to put out a PSA for any/all gardeners to avoid ContainerSeeds.com.
If you're just tuning in, the basic background for the debacle goes like this - since getting out on my own, I've wanted to experiment with growing some of my own fruits and vegetables. I tried talking to some co-workers about buying into a communal plot sponsored by the city, but not enough people were interested to make it viable. I figured that that was okay and set about looking into container gardening. I have a balcony and a front entryway that get sun in the morning/early afternoon and afternoon/early evening respectively, and I figured that I could try my luck with some smaller plants. However, my knowledge about such things was (and still is) lacking. I knew there were some plants that would not produce fruit in containers, and I wanted to avoid making that mistake. I started searching for sites that had advice for apartment dwellers and what seeds worked best, and I came across a place that recommended this little website.
At the time, ContainerSeeds.com seemed like a godsend. Here was a comprehensive site that listed a wide variety of seeds, all suited for containers or small areas, as well as some basic advice and descriptions. I started getting really excited, making lists of the plants I wanted to grow and plotting out the various ways I could fit them all into my limited space. I was also pleased with their prices - a dollar less than some of the other places! - as well as some varieties that I couldn't find on other sites. (Runnerless strawberries that produce fruit all summer? Who knew?) The site seemed a little simple, but there was an address, e-mail and telephone number, and they accepted PayPal. With the exception of one pack of seeds, I ordered my entire tiny garden from ContainerSeeds.com at the end of March. I knew it would be tight, but I figured that if I got the seeds started in April, I might be able to have some stuff ready for Boy when he arrived the first week of June. I placed my seed orders and waited eagerly.
I got one package of seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds within a week. They even sent a packet of bonus seeds as a thank you! (Incidentally, if anyone needs some Yellow Scallop Squash seeds, let me know.) The other seeds hadn't arrived yet, but I wasn't unduly worried. The PayPal payment had gone through, the site said that items were shipped one they got their payment, and I expected my seeds within a few days.
After a week, I called to check on things. I hadn't received the normal PayPal notification saying the seeds had shipped. The person who answered the phone on the other end sounded rather young. And busy. Perhaps confused about why anyone would want to call about something like a business transaction. Still, they assured me that they went to the Post Office "just yesterday," and that my seeds should arrive soon, "within days," in fact.
Another week passed.
This afternoon, I sent them an e-mail asking about the status of my order. I was polite, stating that I just wanted to make sure my order had gone through. I gave them my PayPal order confirmation number, as well as my address. I didn't expect an answer today, but something didn't seem right, for some reason. Every other online transaction I've ever had has been settled quickly and easily, with no problems. I decided to do a quick search to see if anyone else had ever had problems with the company. It's something I should have done long before ordering with them.
I have no reason to believe that I will ever be seeing my seeds. Nor will I be seeing my money back.
In the end though, it's not the money I'm pissed about. The fact of the matter is, I'm pissed that now, the garden won't happen. It was about more than lettuce and sweet peppers and strawberries and all the rest. It sounds foolish, but...
I'm in America. My boyfriend's in Ireland. We see each other twice a year, 10 days at a time, if we're lucky. The rest of the time, we're confined to AIM and Skype. We can't kiss each other, we can't hold each other, and we can't see each other. I would never give up on us - I love him far too much to break it off on account of something as silly as distance. But that doesn't mean that it isn't painfully, crushingly hard. We talk about our future together, but sometimes it's a future that seems so intangible and far away that it's hard to see it as real. During the twenty days a year we have together, we try to catch up with all the things we can't do. It's laughably routine for most couples, but it's something we don't have. Even going to the store is a cherished act for us. It's how we touch the future, even if just for a fleeting moment.
Soon after we got together, we started talking about our future together, our "years from now." I mentioned that I'd always wanted a food garden. He told me that his family once had such a garden, and that he loved it, but that it was eventually ripped out to make way for a pathway. We promised each other that when we were finally together, we would have a garden - the one I never had, and the one that he had lost. It was my hope that on this trip, we could have just a little bit of that. I wanted him to walk out to my patio and see baby lettuces, small sweet peppers, tomatoes, funny little carrots. Most of all, I wanted him to see strawberries. He calls them fancy fruit. They've been my favorites since I was a toddler. I wanted to pluck one off its stem and pop it in his mouth, let him taste it, all sweet and ripe. I wanted to sit out there with him and look at the plants, and tell him that this was just a beginning. Our own little hanging garden that would someday become the one we both wanted.
That won't happen now. I'll order new seeds and start them up, but the plants will still be too young in early June for us to enjoy. It's mostly my fault - for waiting, for being drawn in by a cheap price, for not doing my homework - and I'm furious at both myself and the company. But mostly, I'm sad. I had grand plans, and now they've all collapsed. Even if I do get the seeds eventually, it'll still be too late. So for now, I just sit here typing and crying. There will be no garden.
And even though I know there will be someday, I can't help but feel that the future just slipped out of my hands.
crushedIf you're just tuning in, the basic background for the debacle goes like this - since getting out on my own, I've wanted to experiment with growing some of my own fruits and vegetables. I tried talking to some co-workers about buying into a communal plot sponsored by the city, but not enough people were interested to make it viable. I figured that that was okay and set about looking into container gardening. I have a balcony and a front entryway that get sun in the morning/early afternoon and afternoon/early evening respectively, and I figured that I could try my luck with some smaller plants. However, my knowledge about such things was (and still is) lacking. I knew there were some plants that would not produce fruit in containers, and I wanted to avoid making that mistake. I started searching for sites that had advice for apartment dwellers and what seeds worked best, and I came across a place that recommended this little website.
At the time, ContainerSeeds.com seemed like a godsend. Here was a comprehensive site that listed a wide variety of seeds, all suited for containers or small areas, as well as some basic advice and descriptions. I started getting really excited, making lists of the plants I wanted to grow and plotting out the various ways I could fit them all into my limited space. I was also pleased with their prices - a dollar less than some of the other places! - as well as some varieties that I couldn't find on other sites. (Runnerless strawberries that produce fruit all summer? Who knew?) The site seemed a little simple, but there was an address, e-mail and telephone number, and they accepted PayPal. With the exception of one pack of seeds, I ordered my entire tiny garden from ContainerSeeds.com at the end of March. I knew it would be tight, but I figured that if I got the seeds started in April, I might be able to have some stuff ready for Boy when he arrived the first week of June. I placed my seed orders and waited eagerly.
I got one package of seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds within a week. They even sent a packet of bonus seeds as a thank you! (Incidentally, if anyone needs some Yellow Scallop Squash seeds, let me know.) The other seeds hadn't arrived yet, but I wasn't unduly worried. The PayPal payment had gone through, the site said that items were shipped one they got their payment, and I expected my seeds within a few days.
After a week, I called to check on things. I hadn't received the normal PayPal notification saying the seeds had shipped. The person who answered the phone on the other end sounded rather young. And busy. Perhaps confused about why anyone would want to call about something like a business transaction. Still, they assured me that they went to the Post Office "just yesterday," and that my seeds should arrive soon, "within days," in fact.
Another week passed.
This afternoon, I sent them an e-mail asking about the status of my order. I was polite, stating that I just wanted to make sure my order had gone through. I gave them my PayPal order confirmation number, as well as my address. I didn't expect an answer today, but something didn't seem right, for some reason. Every other online transaction I've ever had has been settled quickly and easily, with no problems. I decided to do a quick search to see if anyone else had ever had problems with the company. It's something I should have done long before ordering with them.
I have no reason to believe that I will ever be seeing my seeds. Nor will I be seeing my money back.
In the end though, it's not the money I'm pissed about. The fact of the matter is, I'm pissed that now, the garden won't happen. It was about more than lettuce and sweet peppers and strawberries and all the rest. It sounds foolish, but...
I'm in America. My boyfriend's in Ireland. We see each other twice a year, 10 days at a time, if we're lucky. The rest of the time, we're confined to AIM and Skype. We can't kiss each other, we can't hold each other, and we can't see each other. I would never give up on us - I love him far too much to break it off on account of something as silly as distance. But that doesn't mean that it isn't painfully, crushingly hard. We talk about our future together, but sometimes it's a future that seems so intangible and far away that it's hard to see it as real. During the twenty days a year we have together, we try to catch up with all the things we can't do. It's laughably routine for most couples, but it's something we don't have. Even going to the store is a cherished act for us. It's how we touch the future, even if just for a fleeting moment.
Soon after we got together, we started talking about our future together, our "years from now." I mentioned that I'd always wanted a food garden. He told me that his family once had such a garden, and that he loved it, but that it was eventually ripped out to make way for a pathway. We promised each other that when we were finally together, we would have a garden - the one I never had, and the one that he had lost. It was my hope that on this trip, we could have just a little bit of that. I wanted him to walk out to my patio and see baby lettuces, small sweet peppers, tomatoes, funny little carrots. Most of all, I wanted him to see strawberries. He calls them fancy fruit. They've been my favorites since I was a toddler. I wanted to pluck one off its stem and pop it in his mouth, let him taste it, all sweet and ripe. I wanted to sit out there with him and look at the plants, and tell him that this was just a beginning. Our own little hanging garden that would someday become the one we both wanted.
That won't happen now. I'll order new seeds and start them up, but the plants will still be too young in early June for us to enjoy. It's mostly my fault - for waiting, for being drawn in by a cheap price, for not doing my homework - and I'm furious at both myself and the company. But mostly, I'm sad. I had grand plans, and now they've all collapsed. Even if I do get the seeds eventually, it'll still be too late. So for now, I just sit here typing and crying. There will be no garden.
And even though I know there will be someday, I can't help but feel that the future just slipped out of my hands.
disappointed
angry
enraged
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