Yesterday I started my annual effort to plant a garden, which despite my name and a long line of maternal gardening experts, is always ineffective – to the point of slaughter.
I never know exactly what I do wrong; I start with such good intentions, and everything goes awry.
In Portland I chalked it up to the alkaline nature of the soil, or too much shade, or… something… but the very same garden that never thrived under my care is flourishing for Danielle and Gabriel. In fact, they are such good caretakers, I left all of my houseplants with them too – and the last time I visited Danielle warned me off even petting them! I am a notorious plant killer.
Yet still I try; yesterday this included a long bike ride out to the big block stores to purchase compost and a happy afternoon sitting on the banks of the river potting an assortment of shrubs. I went with sturdy things in the hopes that they will be impervious to my attentions: a lavender bush, some heather, a weird one I’ve never heard of with red blossoms. There are still violas, and trailing lobelia, which should last at least a few weeks (crossing fingers).
When I bought the boat oh so many years ago the previous owner agreed to leave his big planter if I kept growing what he had established: a lawn. This was easy, since it just meant ignoring the grass as it died off and grew back. But now it is choked with too many roots and needs a proper clean-up.
When I asked my kid what we should grow to replace it, he replied a new lawn, of course – so I guess I’ll have to go out in search of grass seed. Maybe this year will prove more productive than others.
Though I dare not purchase those tomato seedlings I’ve been eyeing – that just wouldn’t be nice. For the plants.