WOW!!
That gives me an idea. I have tried to grow A plant for longer'n you've been alive. I entered my pinnacle plant in the BOM foofaraw, and it was gently placed (100% of contestants, judges, ladies-on-the-street, etc. agreed) in the Life Support Intensive Care Unit on Leper Island.
But those degradable pots will likely stop nematodes for a while. YAY.
Won't stop raccoons, bunnies, peacocks, turtles, wild chickums, tame chickums, iguanas, rabbits [<-- Top seven, I think] from eating them. BUMMER.
Won't stop those moldy-lookin' little bugs that always show up. BUMMER.
Awright... changed my mind. Like Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce:
From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
It makes absolutely no sense to try. Here is what I have learned in these environs:
1. Every single person here knows encyclopedias more than I do about weed growing.
2. Equivalent: A kid with crayons trying to paint like Rembrandt. While standing AMONG a fargin artists colony of Rembrandts.
3. (And keep this sekrit). I was told by a certain hairy-faced, cranky, but lovable individual to keep help handy with his new breed which he gifted me. <-- That ain't the sekrit. I loaded up that little brass thingy that has the little top sliding door onnit. Just after dinner at 6PM, tough guy here had about, well,
exactly 8 hits <-- Nobody ever called me a coward, nor sensible either.
The sekrit is that I slept eleven fargin hours straight last night!!