Every year, I proclaim that this is the year. I go to Home Depot or Walmart and load up on seed packets, Miracle Gro and containers. It's like back-to-school shopping when all of your notebooks are clean and awaiting the neat, meticulous notes that will pave your way to groundbreaking career in astronomy. You'll discover new galaxies. You'll discover life in those new galaxies. You'll get Pluto back into standing as a planet. Yeah, how'd that work for you? Same here.
But back to the garden. Every single year, it fails. Every tomato plant just withers and dies. My dreams of watermelon don't even yield a seedling. One year, I watched a cucumber plant bloom and produce tiny cucumbers. I checked on those tiny cucumbers every day. I exalted in those tiny cucumbers. Then the tiny cucumbers died. I had to stay in bed for a week.
What you have to understand is that my granny was an incredible gardener who prided herself on never having visited a plant nursery. She just dug up stuff on the side of the road and replanted it. Or she got "cuttings" from neighbors. She was magical.
Plus it just seems that gardening should be part of my Southern DNA.
I have planted rose bushes that thrived. My kumquat tree produces bushels of fruit. The rosemary does really well when Mr. G. doesn't throw a heavy potted plant on top of it.
Then there's the casualty list. The Satsuma tree died without giving us a single Satsuma. The yellow rose bush died. The shrimp plant died. Even a tree that had no doubt stood for decades died. The other day, I was pulling brown leaves off the two-headed palm tree, and one head of the tree came off in my hand. It's like I decapitated it. Poor Marie Antoinette.
This year, I planted basil, zucchini, cucumber and green beans. Then I called my green thumb neighbor over to inspect the progress.
Neighbor: That's cucumber?
Me: Yes.
Neighbor: Doesn't look like cucumber.
Me: The packet said it was cucumber.
Then we strolled over to the zucchini.
Neighbor: That's zucchini?
Me: Yes.
Neighbor: Doesn't look like zucchini.
So now the seed companies are actively duping me. They see me coming and give me seeds for something meaningless so I won't destroy countless vegetables.
Then we went to the basil, whereupon my neighbor squatted down to peer at it before carefully straightening up and looking thoughtful.
Neighbor: I have trouble with basil myself.
So I give up. I'm never planting another plant. I'll just plant the Christmas tree out there so Mr. G. can proudly show off the yard with a sweep of his hand and chortle about his wife's black thumb. He really seems to get a kick out of it.
