"And God said, 'Let the earth sprout vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind, on the earth.' And it was so."
I do not have a green thumb. I don't necessarily have a black thumb, but I'm not even responsible and diligent enough to start a garden, let alone kill one. I can never remember when planting season is for flowers, which isn't aided by department store garden centers that display their seeds in the spring when plants should be blooming and Christmas trees during the planting season. So I wander through Lowes every spring infatuated by the rows of colorful flowers in full bloom. I know I could buy them all and bring them home, but it feels like cheating (and kind of a waste of money) to plant flowers that someone else started.
In addition, I've been focused more on my lawn than flower bed. Since Peter first bought a house in 2008, I've taken it as a personal challenge to create a beautiful, suburban yard. I grew up mostly out in the sticks, and while I loved having wild woods outside my door to play in, the grass-is-greener part of me always daydreamed of having (literally) greener grass to play in.
So obsessed was I with this project that the year after Peter and I got married, I proposed we tear out the mix of grasses that spottily covered our front yard and re-seed. God bless him, Peter agreed for some unknown reason. And it looked fabulous (for three months) until in my zeal, I over applied weed killer and killed the yard pretty completely…at least we tried(?). In the end, it didn't really matter. We moved a few months later and I had to start over again. Except this time, I was massively pregnant and not really able to do much gardening at all.
After sitting out a summer, I was not going to waste another year. I got the yard taken care of early this spring so it was lush and green if not weed-free. I carefully sorted through the selection of flowers at the garden store and purchased a variety of seeds and sprouts. I brought the flowers home and lovingly placed them in the corner of the kitchen, which is the recommended spot for forgetting something exists.
Before I knew it, I was pushing the outer limit of the planting season. It was now or never so I (kindly?) forced Peter out to weed the flower garden. This would probably be an 8 hour task when done properly—I gave him an hour. I immediately planted the seeds and flowers in the soil freshly vacated by grass and weeds, watered liberally, and prayed.
Within a week everything was dead.
The peace lily wilted and looked like overcooked spinach, the flowers fried in the sun, and the grass quickly reclaimed it's territory.
But then, yesterday, I noticed a touch of color punctuating the green and brown. Success. One life has survived. It's a small victory, but I'll take it.