Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I've often heard the phrases, "Life began in a garden" and "God is closest in a garden" and blah blah blah!
So, now you know how I feel about gardening. I have never been good at gardening. I have an extremely black thumb. All I have to do is look at some living green thing (I'm not talking about moldy cheese) and it shrivels up and dies. You don't believe me? Just last month my friend, Nadine, told me to take home her potted basil. She said it would go well with my tomatoes and she wanted me to have it. I refused. I told her that it would die in my care. But she insisted. I brought it home, and even watered it, and in two days...TWO DAYS...it was brown. Not a speck of green could be found on that plant. Then there's the times that Amber has brought home little plastic cups of who-knows-what, only to have them sprout up out of the soil and then wither as soon as they saw whose home they were in!
My father-in-law, on the other hand, is the Plant Whisperer. All he has to do is walk by a plant and it stands at attention and immediately produces fruit or veggies or flowers, even in the off-season. I'm not kidding. Papa is the reason our tomato plant is still alive and producing yummy tomatoes. The garden is his and Amber's garden. In the beginning, when they planted the tomatoes, I told him that I wanted nothing to do with it. I told him that it was not good for my self-esteem to see one more plant die on my watch.
So, why am I telling you this? Today I was fuming after yet another battle with my oldest to get her to eat her food. I called my friend, Gina, and she told me that a walk outside in the fresh air helps her calm down. So I decided to go outside and pick some fruit. I picked a few remaining tomatoes and some pomegranates and some beautiful roses. It did help, and I thought to myself, "Maybe there's something to this gardening thing. I think I understand what all those women are talking about when they wax eloquent about getting back to nature." I decided to pull a few vines away from the roses that they had wrapped themselves around. And then...OUCH...I stabbed myself on a thorn! Then another. Then my arms started to itch from rubbing against the scratchy vines. Then I started cursing those women who find gardening such a joy. "Oh, forget this!" I thought, and went inside to put the flowers in water. You see, I'm just not cut out to be a gardener. I never have been, and I never will be. And I'm okay with that. Now I need to go wash the scratchies off my arms!
P.S. I took a picture of what I gathered in the garden, before the flowers wither and the tomatoes go bad! I don't think I can sabotage pomegranates, but you never know!