Confession: I am the world’s worst gardener. Always have been. I kill everything I touch. No, really. Take a look at my Pinterest gardening board and you will see countless dreams. Many I’ve put into practice with that eternal optimism inherent of gardeners everywhere.
I’m good at quite a few things. I’m a good cook, I’m good at my job and I’m a good bartender (according to my friend K who says I make the best martinis EVER). I am not good at gardening. No I don’t bite off more than I can chew and plan a veggie garden tha would give Versailles a run. I don’t over water. I don’t underwater. I weed. I make sure the aphids and tomato bugs stay away. But no matter what everything I touch dies a horrible death. At least the tomatoes have the good grace to surrender a few fruit before they do themselves in.
I keep tying. You’d think I’d give up at some point, but I don’t. This isn’t knitting, which I tried and tried and tried and then said, “Fuck it!” and gave my bamboo knitting needles and wool yarn to a friend of husband J’s. The blueberry plant dies? Go get another one (because son J thinks it’s so cool that we have a BLUEBERRY PLANT!!). The tomato obviously not doing well? Keep it alive long enough to produce some tomatoes for J to harvest. Ants ate all the new fruit on the lemon tree? Well, at least it still looks pretty.
I keep trying because hope really does spring eternal.