Monday, April 21, 2008

How does my Garden Grow? Completely at random

Nine months out of the year, the area directly outside my kitchen window is a brambly sandbox blanketed with weeds and dead pinecones. Each spring, I load up on plants from a nearby nursery and attempt to resurrect this prickly patch.

The annual extreme makeover usually consists of various plants I have chosen, all of which must be labeled something like, will grow in shitty grit soil under non-stop fire hose of blazing sun rays. It helps if the label also says something to the effect of, will also withstand copious amounts of battering by pets and a gardener who will most likely forget all about it in three weeks.

Despite my lack of ability and wilting interest, one or two of the plants does well, only after it wins at the foliage and flora version of survivor that unfolds (slowly) outside my window.

Last year’s winners were a red Salvia plant (that I only bought because I read in the paper it may have hallucinogenic properties) which grew to be a four foot tall explosion of red while its nearby blue tribe member cowed in it shadow. The year before that, a sturdy Oregano smothered the dainty Purslane and a sprawling Verbena crowded out the golden Lantana.

Even the plants that thrive in the short-term, die at some point during the year because I’m too lazy to cover them when we have our one or two freezes of "winter" (in quotes because my Northern readers would die laughing at what we Floridians "suffer" during our coldest months.)

Thus far in 2008, I have done nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Rien. But, last weekend I went out into the yard, (probably to get the dog to stop barking/eating cat poo/battering herself against the back fence) when I saw this:

This is a Black-Eyed Susan that promptly died shortly into the game last spring. But as you can see, the dead have resurrected themselves.

I am beyond shocked that these plants have crept out of their graves because I didn’t even have to perform any kind of voodoo chant or inject them with a virus that is supposed to cure cancer but that actually turns things into crazy rage zombies.

I digress.

Further inspection of the yard revealed more shocking floral happenings. I looked into a far dark corner, one that gets even LESS attention than the sand dune I annually try to wring into a lush English style cottage garden.

In this corner lives the rosebush that was planted (too close to the house according to the home inspector) by the previous owners. This rosebush has somehow, beyond all rhyme, reason or logical possibility, managed to eke out an existence for itself against all odds.


The only thing I ever do to this rosebush is occasionally look over to find these:

Perfectly velvety fist sized crimson roses.

The point is, well I don’t really have a point. This is all totally random. I guess the point is, I completely and absolutely suck at gardening. I kill things. They should probably hang my picture over every Lowe's garden center in the vicinity. Do not sell plants to this woman.

Despite my shortcomings though, every once in awhile, something beautiful grows anyway.


P.S. In other totally random, non-related, existential news. I may be making a foray into a puppet related enterprise. More on that later.

1 comment:

James Ford said...

puppets! what's this puppet talk i hear on the streets? more about puppets!