Accidental Farmer

"Accidental" - granted, the majority of the plants out on the terrace are certainly deliberately there, perhaps a bit haphazardly nurtured, but nurtured, or kept alive, or kept from dying (with moderate success).  Without a doubt, they are nurtured in spirit, and cared for, even if time permits of less than what is wished for them.  There are weeds - those cannot be accidental as they persist and insist despite being unwelcome; there are tomatoes that spring up out of the compost that hasn't quite composted - I suppose those latter truly are accidental, but only in their initial stages, as then they become nurtured and coddled.  But the rest of the time, "accidental" is not really accurate for the plantings out on the terrace.

"Farmer" - is simply not generally applicable.  The "Jardin," as it is affectionately known in these parts, is definitely a garden.  Although I suppose by some standards, a container garden may not be a "true" garden, without the direct connection to the earth.  And while it may be a decent size for New York City standards, well, New York City standards are a different standard where space and greenery are concerned.  But by no means is the Jardin anywhere remotely close to a "farm" - either definitionally or geographically - notwithstanding the foodstuffs that sometimes grow out there.

Hence, "accidental farmer" is most apt.  And when applied to produce left on the counter for too long without consumption, well, that anything would continue to grow is purely accidental.  That they would be left to grow for so long that they might reach a stage sufficiently advanced to provide any hope of cultivation, well, yes, accidental to the tee...

Right now, while the residents of the Jardin continue to freeze, inside, the ever-present life force pushes on.  And so from food, plants are born - the reverse of the cycle, or the next iteration of the cycle.  For a plant lover, it forces the choice between eating the produce, if edible still, and letting the sprouts take over.  Sometimes it is possible to split the baby, so to speak.

Sweet potato with purple-leaved buds.  I covet the purple sprouts - what color they would add to the Jardin, perhaps interspersed among vines of its green-leafed cousin shown below, especially trailing over one of the large planters.

A companion sweet potato - this one with light green leaves on a pinkish stalk. If these leaves are more chartreuse, they would be lovely interspersed as well.

Tableau of sprouting produce.  Note the daikon, whose top is sprouting fiercely.  There likely is not enough room to nourish a new daikon root of this size.  But Mumsicle has said she will take the top for the Mother Garden. 

Tableau of sprouting produce - second angle.  Note the sprouting onion.

Sweet potato - green-leafed, full-fledged plants.  Grown from the sweet potato that caused a fire in the microwave (oops), its growing tip amputated before its descent into the inferno.

Same sweet potato - angle #2.  Its future will be the large planter where the peach tree carcass stands.

Tableau - again.

Bokchoy stub - in growth mode.

The purple-leaved sweet potato - amputated of its growing tip, microwaved, buttered, salted, peppered, filled with softly scrambled eggs lightened with milk and studded with chopped leaves from the overgrown onion.

The amputated purple-leaved sweet potato tip, settled into a makeshift bulb vase (jar, whose mouth holds a plastic bottleneck cut from the bottle, inverted, which then holds the sweet potato elevated, but just below the water line), in the window.

Overgrown, sprouted onion, whose leaf tips flavored the scrambled eggs.

Teeny tiny sweet potato cuts with teeny tiny sprouts - likely too small to grow, but just in case, they were nestled into the soil of a potted plant.