I fear my mother despairs of ever cultivating a true gardener’s soul within me.
(Yeah, pun intended)
I have this tendency to “grow my own way”.
And, I hate weeding.
Uggghhh…nothing more mind-numbing and irritating to me than pulling weeds. It’s one of the reasons why I got rid of the vegetable garden we used to have in the backyard.
I do however, have my own way of gardening.
Other than my lily garden, which is still a work in progress, and will probably end up more wild than tame by the end of things, anyway, my flower beds are thrown together as a mix of perennials – and then told – “GO! Whoever lasts – wins! May the odds be ever in your favor!”
And I am very much in support of this style of gardening, obviously.
My mother hates it.
She sees it as disorganized, messy, & well…not like her.
But that’s just it.
It’s ok. I’m not her. I’m me.
I love my mom.
But I’m disorganized, messy, & not her.
I am, however, a survivor.
Just like the flowers that make it to the blooming stage in my yard.
And, by that – I mean – my yard…has now gotten into the The Hunger Games act of gardening…
I have wild daisy patches blooming in the middle of my grass.
And I let them.
Because Katniss and Peta made it this far. They deserve their chance to shine before the mower takes them out.
They aren’t specially bred lilies, or carefully cultivated and pruned arrangements.
They popped up, out of nowhere, while I wasn’t looking, because we were getting rain & I couldn’t mow for a few days.
So- bloom – you little fuckers.
This yard is the only place you’ll probably get this chance.
Because I’m still a little wild myself…even if only between my ears.
(No green thumbs here)