The Inconstant Gardener

Every single year since I moved into this house, I make very big plans.

Do I smell clam chowder?

They do not involve wearing a ball gown in Times Square (over my clothes with combat boots like everyone else). Nor do they touch upon infiltrating a red carpet event so I can offer clam chowder and a cookie to Calista Flockhart. Although the more I think about it, the more sense that makes.

My big plans involve the beautiful flowers I will plant.

When we first arrived in the "country," I would drive around the neighborhood ogling other people's gardens, do research on the benefits of annuals vs. perennials, look into what bulbs would enhance a border and slow down every time I passed a garden center while entertaining visions of the splendour I would create (and trying not to rear end the car in front of me. Seth got pretty tired of that).

In reality, there was more likelihood of the Calista Flockhart cookie intervention.

The reason behind this is simple: gardening involves work. And dedication. And I am, without question, the laziest human I know. When it comes to physical labor, that is. I am more than happy to do any work that involves sitting on a couch by a window. Preferably while napping.

Impossible to accomplish while napping.

But also, during our very first spring, I did attempt to realize my fantasy and severely overdid it...

I decided to fill our front yard with impatiens, everyone's favorite annual flower. In the city, a neighbor had created a glorious display which I'd admired and now that I finally had some ground to call my own, I bought hundreds of impatiens. And then, hundreds more.

Not my yard but mine looked as good that year.

I actually did complete the task and the results were magnificent. However, my knees still ache some 18 years later. I realized then that I hate bending, kneeling...and weeding and watering. Also sweating. I really hate sweating.

Not to mention I don't trust dirt. Whereas urban sidewalks can harbor broken glass, dog poop and glistening city oysters (my term for freshly hocked loogies), you can always step around them. Dirt is full of surprises. It can hold insects...sometimes with lots and lots of legs.

If worms smiled
like this, it wouldn't be so bad.

And worst of all, worms.

Bugs and bending. Not a happy combo for this lethargic city girl.

All in all, there was no garden this year. I did, however, plant morning glories around my mailbox (no bending) which have gone mad...so I am giving myself partial credit.

My actual mailbox. Jealous?

There's always next year. You'll see, next year I will plant and tend a magnificent garden. And I'll be selling ocean front property in Arizona, too. Contact me if interested.

 

Now, for a musical interlude.