By Dottie Love, Master Gardener Intern
I have a flower garden. That’s the “Ornamentals” category of horticulture. Criteria for success? Pretty. Yeah yeah yeah: design, scale, harmony, variety, “mood”; it all comes down to “Pretty”.
But all I can concentrate on is all the work I haven’t done because I’m lazy and no-account. I can’t be trusted to shop responsibly and I’ve wasted my money by not keeping up with anything. New plants planted? No, and they’ll die any second. Hose leak fixed? No, and the water bill will be ecstatic. Pruning, fertilizing, weeding, dividing, etc., etc., etc.? Uhh, no…uhh, I’m thinking of a nap.
Drooping leaves accuse me. You call it ‘hydration’ and haul around a $40 mug. We call it ‘life’, lady. Mounds of pulled weeds and twigs slyly snicker. It’s fine, just ignore us. We’re busy killing your grass and dropping seeds for next year. The thistles stand tall and laugh and laugh. Sure, kick us over. We’ll be right back. The trumpet vine is silent; it’s occupied strangling anything alive or dead.
The only gratitude I get is from the fire ants.
Last night I made iced tea. I nonchalantly strolled to the patio and pinched off a dozen spikes of spearmint. But of course! Don’t all gardeners have herbs at their back door? The tea was marvelous. After the ice melted, I noticed an odd shape in the glass. No, not a crawly bug. It was a bagworm cocoon.
Yes, I need help. But I can’t trust a helper to not cut down my smooth-leaved sumac saplings, spread willy-nilly by rhizomes. Or my lantana cuttings entwined with the grass that needs pulling. And my Mutabilis rose just might come back, you never know!
My garden is my albatross. I created this monster. Now it’s that vine that eats people in that movie. Back inside, in my chair with my heating pad, I Google: Gardener +lazy. +bad. +lame. +loser. +spendthrift.
We’re putting June’s newsletter to bed.
Watch for the conclusion of this editorial next month.