Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Petal Pushers

It's February and I'm ready for flowers. Last year was the first year, since I moved out on my own, that I was able to have any semblance of a garden. I was incredibly eager to plant and bought flowers in early April (too early): hardy Begonias that lasted through the growing season. I was so thrilled with their color palette that ranged from a deep blood orange to a bright and juicy lemon. Come to think of it, why is it that women talk about colors in such sexy ways? I don't talk about sex in such a sexy way, just saying (I think I almost look at sex as a science experiment or something). There have been a million studies and surveys about the way that women speak of colors while most men (well straight ones) tend to see things in terms of the primaries. When we talked about this in high school, I remember asking a male classmate what color he thought cerulean was. He looked at me like I just spat in his face.

Anyway (Nana's getting side-tracked), when the whether started to get warmer, I had Snapdragons, Petunias (including an amazing Creme Brulee Petunia that was this amazing tan and brown that I'd never seen before), Marigolds, these colored tree flower things that had a big and fancy name, some kind of colored leafy thing that got really huge and overtook the hanging basket, Basil, Lavender, Cilantro, Habanero peppers, Roma Tomatoes, and Red Peppers. Looking back, I had too many things for a budding green thumb's first try at an apartment pot-garden (not that kind of pot garden). The sunlight was too intense for some, I didn't have enough space for most of the plants, and the tomato blight did a number on my solitary tomato plant. It wasn't the most beautiful garden, but I was intensely proud of the things that did grow, and I learned a lot about gardening within my abilities.

Creme Brulee Petunia

Now that we've had one day above fifty degrees, my mind is already taking me to the time when I will bust out the potting soil and make the blessed trip to Bedner's Nursery in Cecil. I love the winter, the snow, the sweaters, the boots, the cold, and the sinus infections, but...when it's late spring and I get to walk through Bedner's with a cart full of flowers, I can't really think of a time where I feel more fulfilled and at home. Unless of course I'm at the Indian Buffet. I know that eventually my growing abilities will grow into my enthusiasm. Until then, I hope to listen to experienced gardeners, read lots of books, grow plants within my skill set and hope that my gram is giving me some luck: she was a lot better at this growing thing than I am.

Gram had an heirloom rose bush (with the most fragrant magenta roses I've ever seen), a huge lilac bush, a yard full of Tulips, Morning Glories, Catnip, Hostas, and one of those weird bleeding heart plants that made me uncomfortable when I was a kid. I mean, "Bleeding Heart?" It's spring...not Nuclear Winter. How morbid. I think that the thing that she really had, besides skill, was patience and contentment...and that's definitely something I'm lacking. This year, I hope that I grow along with my garden.

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1 comment:

  1. The funny thing about gardening is that a lot of these same plants that can grow and thrive in the wild on their own wither and die under my care. I think I have a black thumb... of death.