15 June 2013

Plotting, Potting, Planting

Behind a half-built shed, I found two unused pots, and suddenly I had a brilliant idea.  I hauled the pots to my car and left them sunbaking while I wandered wilted aisles of unwanted vegetables in tiny containers at the hardware store.  I found dirt in a bag and bought two.  Evidently, all the dirt on my living room floor wouldn't work.  I had to import.

I headed towards a wire rack that spun when I touched it and tipped over when I spun it.  Pictures of gorgeous gardens full of fresh veg and flowers stared at me from the fronts of the seed packets.  From the looks on the back, all I had to do was push the seeds into the ground at various intervals and *poof* I would have the luxurious vegetation they taunted me with.

I knew better.

The last time I planted anything it only lasted about three days before reverting to a weed patch.

But this time, I wouldn't plant it in the ground.  I had pots.  Lovely, unused pots I'd found behind a shed.

Now all I had to do was find the right seeds.  The perfect, smell-good, look-luscious, plant to put in those pots.  I wanted a fragrant wildflower called Four O'clock.  It has a black seed about half the size of a black bean, and it grows a bush with these amazing pink and white flowers that start making the world smell like the inside of Bath and Body Works just as the sun starts to set.

Of course, they had a spot on the tippity rack for Four O'clocks, but no packets.  After nearly braining a passing granny when I tried spinning the rack to look for more, I found a big, big, pack of fragrant wildflowers that had my seeds in it, along with a myriad of other seeds I didn't care about.  I sighed.  What's a budding gardener to do?

I bought all the extra seeds and took them home along with my imported dirt.

Now, I have two pots sitting beside my front door filled with rich, brown soil (not dirt) and guess what?  There are beautiful, perfect, tiny green shoots carpeting the surface.  Besides the Four O'Clock, I'm not exactly sure what I planted, but they look promising.

I think this is why gardening has lasted as long as it has. (I mean, besides the obvious need to eat.)  It's exhilarating to watch something dead-looking send out feeble arms and wave at the sky like an old friend.

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