Did I ever tell you that I buy fresh flowers every weekend at the farmer’s market? I adore having newly cut flowers in my home. I do it for two reasons. Number one, there is just something wonderful and sophisticated about having flowers to come home to. Number two, it keeps my sister off my back. A few years ago, she helped me with my move and subsequent downsizing after my divorce. She tried with all her might to get me to part with some of my vast collection of vases of every shape and size. Her argument was that a woman living alone does not need 31 containers for flowers. Fortunately, I was able to save every single one of my precious vases from going to my yard sale because I convinced her that I, indeed, NEEDED them all. So I can be assured that she never thinks that she was right, I keep them filled and rotated. And besides, I have flowers in my garden that I like to cut and display and then there is the chance that some of my floral tributes from male admirers might need redistribution. I don’t think you can have too many pretty vases.
Speaking of my garden, I work hard to keep it pretty. When I say “work hard”, I don’t necessarily mean that I am on my knees with a straw hat digging in the earth. I work hard at keeping up a good relationship with my gardener. He knows that I love to be surrounded by flowers and greenery, but he also knows that I suck at growing things. When people admire my front or back garden, I just smile and say thank you and hope they don’t ask me about any particular plant or ask advice about the amount of sun that they need. I haven’t a clue. My two tiny gardens abound with color, no thanks to me. Edwin, my darling gardener, keeps things going and growing. I have an automatic watering system, so all I have to do is admire my blooms.
I wish I were better at gardening. I should be. My mother and grandmother were amazing at growing things. When I was little, my mother tried to encourage me by buying packets of seeds and giving me a bit of space to grow carrots and radishes. I really liked it, but, like with so many things, I had no patience. As soon as I would get a bit of green showing, I would pull them up and marvel at a little teeny weeny carrot or radish. I didn’t want my mom to know that I had prematurely harvested my crop, so I replanted them and they withered and died. She never caught on, but I got an early reputation for not being a great at growing things.
Even in the 70s when everyone was obsessed with houseplants, I couldn’t keep mine alive. So, after my Creeping Charlie or Wandering Jew would croak, I would just go and buy a bigger one to replace it. No one ever caught on that I wasn’t this great earth mother. Back then it was believed that you needed to talk to your plants to make them thrive. I did that, but I don’t think nagging counts. Chanting “please don’t die.. please don’t die” did no good.
I think you have to have a really scientific mind to be good with plants. When I go to the garden center, I am really intimidated. I look like I know what I am doing because I pick very nice flowering plants and I often get very approving looks from the other customers and even the staff. I always wear a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and I have my best Martha Stewart-esque game face on. Looking confident gets me in and out of there faster. I don’t ask questions because that leads to questions I can’t answer intelligently. They want to know things like the composition of my soil. “Dirty dirt” probably wouldn’t give them the information they need. Any conversation with the garden pros might lead to further questioning about whether I am looking for annuals or perennials. This is just WAY too much pressure. I don’t know what to say. I have a friend who is a gifted gardener. His yard is spectacular. He orders seeds and little “plantlings” from all over the world, but he has this curious sign in his garden that reads “Friends don’t let friends buy annuals". I know this is some kind of inside gardening joke, but it is over my head.
I was actually at the nursery last weekend. My friendly sales associate flat out asked me if I had ordered my bulbs yet. I tried not to fumfer for an answer, so I threw my head back and told him that I was still deciding. More pressure.
It’s not like I don’t try. A few years ago, I was watching QVC, and their garden expert had these gorgeous plants in a 3-pack called “Butterfly Plants”. They ran a video that showed a lady receiving her three potted baby plants. The next thing you saw was the plants all grown up with lovely flowers and a trillion butterflies flitting around each stalk. These plants were guaranteed to grow quickly and easily with very little care. I am really good at the “very little care” part, so I ordered them. Three years later, I still have three Butterfly Plants, each one scragglier than the other. One of the plants occasionally gets a flower, and one little butterfly who apparently lost his way, did flit for a brief moment last spring.
Thank goodness I have a wonderful gardener who makes sure that my world is beautiful. He fights off the aphids and gophers for me. I am lucky to have him.
Speaking of flowers, as promised, I am including a photo my four month-old granddaughter, Lulu, on Halloween. Her daddy dressed up like a gardener and she was the most beautiful flower in the world. I may not be able to grow real flowers, but I whipped up this costume for MY little flower. She wasn't as thrilled as we were... obviously. Pretty cute, n’est-ce pas?
