Man, October 2019. I remember seeing that title pop up somewhere, you know, “Pisces October Monthly Horoscope 2019: Get your forecast.” And for some reason, it just stuck with me. Not because I believe in that stuff much, but because it got me thinking about “forecasting” my own damn life, or at least a small part of it. I was in a bit of a rut back then, just going through the motions, you know? So, that word, “forecast,” it clicked something in my head.
I looked around my house, trying to find something, anything, I could apply a “forecast” to. My neglected backyard garden patch immediately jumped out. It was a mess, mostly weeds, but I had thrown some vegetable seeds in there haphazardly months before. Maybe, I thought, I could forecast its future, give myself a small project to actually see through for once.
Starting the “Garden Forecast” Project
First thing I did was grab a beat-up old notebook and a pencil. No fancy apps, no spreadsheets, just good old paper and lead. I walked out to the patch, felt the dirt under my feet. It was dry, compacted. Not a good sign for any kind of growth, let alone a forecast. But hey, it was a start.
- I knelt down, pushing aside the thickest weeds. I could barely make out some small, struggling tomato plants I’d planted. There were also a few pepper plants looking even worse for wear.
- I started sketching a rough map of the patch in my notebook. Just squares and circles, marking where I thought things were.
- Then, I picked one tomato plant, a scrawny thing, and decided it would be my primary “subject.” I named it ‘Lucky’ in my head, figuring it needed all the luck it could get.
- My first “forecast” entry for Lucky: “Expect 3-5 small tomatoes by end of October, maybe.” Totally pulled that number out of my butt, by the way. No actual science there, just a wild guess to kick things off.
The Daily Grind of Observation
The next few weeks became a routine. Every single morning, before the coffee really kicked in, I’d stumble out to the garden. That was the core of my “practice.”
- I would check on Lucky first. I’d examine its leaves, look for any new buds, count the existing tiny green fruit.
- I noted the weather. Was it sunny, cloudy, raining? How hot did it feel? I didn’t have a thermometer out there, just my gut feeling.
- I wrote it all down. “Oct 5: Sunny, hot. Lucky has 2 new leaves. 3 small fruits, no change. Soil dry.” “Oct 6: Cloudy, light drizzle. Lucky’s fruits look slightly bigger. Spotted a bug.”
- I even started doing little things. I pulled a few weeds each day, not trying to clear the whole thing at once, but just taking a small chunk. I’d grab the watering can and give Lucky, and its struggling neighbors, a drink.
It was slow going. My initial “forecast” for Lucky seemed laughably optimistic. Those three tiny tomatoes weren’t growing much. And then, a few days later, one of them just shriveled up and fell off. I remember feeling a weird sense of disappointment, like my forecast had failed spectacularly.
Unexpected Twists and Turns
As I kept at it, things started to shift. The consistent, even if small, effort started paying off in ways I hadn’t expected.
- The weeds, slowly but surely, started to retreat. The ground began to look less like a forgotten jungle and more like, well, a garden.
- I saw new growth. Lucky, despite losing one fruit, suddenly started pushing out more flowers. More tiny green tomatoes formed.
- Pests became an issue. I found little holes in leaves. Instead of giving up, I looked up natural remedies. Sprayed some soapy water, which actually seemed to help a bit.
- My “forecasting” shifted. It wasn’t about guessing the exact number of fruits anymore. It became about understanding the conditions that led to growth or decline. I started trying to “forecast” if a hot, dry week would mean I needed to water more, or if a sudden chill might damage a developing fruit.
The biggest surprise was realizing how much I actually enjoyed it. This simple, daily check-in, the act of observing, of writing things down. It wasn’t just about the tomatoes; it was about the discipline, the connection to something tangible, living. My head felt clearer. I wasn’t just aimlessly browsing stuff anymore; I had a small, real-world task that started my day.
The Harvest and Beyond
By the end of October, Lucky produced five small, but perfectly ripe, tomatoes. Five! My initial forecast was right on the lower end, even after the setback. They weren’t giant, picture-perfect tomatoes, but they tasted incredible. I pulled them off the vine, warm from the sun, and ate one right there in the garden. Best tomato I’d ever had, honestly.
That little project, sparked by a random horoscope title, taught me a lot. It taught me that consistent small efforts add up. It taught me that sometimes, the “forecast” isn’t about perfectly predicting the future, but about understanding the present and making informed adjustments. It made me pay attention to details I’d usually just gloss over. I still have that notebook, full of messy handwriting and rough sketches. And you know what? I still keep a little log for my garden every year now, not just in October. Not really to “forecast” anymore, but just to keep tracking, to keep watching, and to keep learning. It’s become a solid, simple part of my life now, and it all started with a random headline and a crazy idea to “forecast” my own damn tomatoes.
