The Awkward Gardener

There’s a famous saying that goes “the family that plays together, stays together.” Maybe you’ve heard of it, or countless variations thereof. I tend to be a little cynical about such things, but every once in a while something happens that makes me believe. Or at least stop being so snarky for a second or two.

Gardening has always been a rather solitary hobby for me. My ex hated being outdoors when we lived in Florida, let alone actually doing any sort of activity there, besides sprinting from the front door to the car and back again, lest he melt or burst into flames. I usually found myself puttering among my weeds alone, while the family sat inside watching SpongeBob (yes, including the ex), my only company being the dog, who didn’t care for SpongeBob and spent his time undoing what I just did. I celebrated, cursed, sobbed, and kicked over watering cans in frustration by myself. The dog usually just lapped up the water and ignored me. Can’t say the same for the neighbors.

Completely random side note, I’m typing this on Microsoft Word and find it curious indeed that I got no funky “you spelled this wrong” line under SpongeBob. Does that mean it’s really in Word’s dictionary??? Do I need a trademark symbol thingy for SpongeBob, or Word? Thank goodness I didn’t say Mickey Mouse.

Anyhoo, back to gardening. I have learned a valuable lesson this past week. Actually two. The first might seem so obvious to you, I am imagining a collective slapping of foreheads, accompanied by a “D’OH!” Now, I feel I must mention again I grew up in Florida, and no matter how long I live here in Kentucky, I’m still taken by surprise by the weather. I think its denial. I don’t want to believe it will be cold, so I’m always shocked and dismayed when I go outside and turn into a popsicle. Well, we had some really gorgeous spring weather over the last couple of weeks. I’m talking “no jacket required.” I had felt comfortable with planting some things directly outside, such as radishes and green beans. The radishes in particular have been taking off, prompting me to do a happy dance every time I go outside.

Now, I’ve mentioned that Fearless Leader has been noting the progress of my Jiffy Pot nursery and whatnot. The day I did the bulk of my planting, he sat outside with me, offering a helping hand by drilling holes in planters and dragging my bag of soil around for me. We had his six-year-old son with us at the time, and he got involved too, planting some banana pepper seeds in a milk carton. It was rather strange to have company, but pleasant. I think I could get used to it, but I guess I can’t throw anymore hissy fits outside.

I think the attraction of gardening is that we are programmed with a desire to watch things grow. We love babies of all species, marvel as they grow, and then want to beat them with a bag of rocks when they reach adulthood. Or maybe just men. I dunno, but seeing as my kids are pretty much done growing, at least upwards, and Ozzy, my beagle puppy, turned a year not too long ago, I have nothing left to really nurture. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I look at my fledgling plants. Having someone that cares right along with me enhances that feeling.

Relationships are about as finicky as a seedling. If you don’t tend to it daily, it’s going to look like most of my Morning Glories do at the moment: sad and wimpy. Sometimes we tend to look at the big picture, which is usually a good thing, but can’t see the smaller things that matter, which is a bad thing. I think in the past I was so focused on end results, I never paid attention to all the little steps that would get me there. I’m talking about both gardening and relationships.

I got a little wake-up call a few mornings ago. F.L. had gone to his early morning algebra class, and being my day off, I slept in as late as I could muster. It was glorious, except for this very strange dream in which he poked his head into the bedroom, said in an ominous tone “well, all your plants are dead – it snowed,” and shut the door. The rest of the dream consisted of the front door opening and closing over and over again, which was very irritating. It finally stopped and I slumbered on in peace. When I finally woke up and stumbled downstairs in search of caffeine, I was greeted by a sight that stopped me dead. Every single one of my plants was sitting in the living room, crowded onto a piece of plywood. I gaped at it for a moment or two, yelled at Ozzy when he started lifting a leg by my green beans, and rushed over to the window. Sure enough, even though the sun was now shining, there were patches of snow still on the ground. My hero had taken the time before rushing off to class to bring my plants in, even though it might have been too late for most of them. If that doesn’t say love, I don’t know what does.

I had heard the weather man mention the word “snow” the night before, but in that stubborn state of denial I like to live in, I turned the channel immediately, disgusted at his filthy language. I figured he was in Cincinnati, about 50 miles away. In my mind, that was far enough to be in a separate climate zone. I hadn’t stopped to think about my plants outside, just in case the crazy weather person was right. Sad mistake for me, but I think my radishes survived, as they seem to be nice and green a few days later. My other fledglings hadn’t been so far along, and didn’t seem to fair as well. Of course, my Jiffy Pot darlings sit in sublime bliss by the window, undaunted by the goings on. Except for the Morning Glories, who have dwindled down to one healthy seedling. I think I need to plant it soon if it’s going to survive my best efforts of keeping it alive.

So, the lessons I have learned is to 1) never take the weather for granted when gardening, and 2) never take your significant other for granted, ever. I had assumed since I had taken on the trouble of starting a garden, it was my “problem” so to speak. I never expected F.L. to be bothered to care, because that was all I knew from previous experience. All relationships have their ups and downs, but I think the key to making them work is finding the things you can be passionate about together, and appreciating the little things that are done for you and that you can do for the other person.

Until next time, stay warm and happy gardening!


The Awkward Gardener

I am in a quandary today. I’ve embarked on this project rather haphazardly, which is usually how I embark on things, and as usual find myself scratching my head and hoping I don’t have fleas. With two dogs and a cat, it’s a distinct possibility…I’m kidding.

See, my method for planting in the past has been to browse for plants or seeds that appealed to me without much more than a cursory glance at their little “adoption tags” as I call them. You know, that little plastic doo-hickey that tells you such mundane information as how to actually care for the plant. I’d take them home, slap them in the ground or pots, say a little prayer-slash-eulogy, and hope for the best. As you can imagine, I’ve gotten some mixed results. My best effort was years ago, when I owned a house and felt confident enough to plant things right in the ground. I started with a mass planting of Sweet Allysum that actually flourished and become a semi-circular hedge for my flower garden. I was so proud of it. Every morning I’d look out the front window and swell with pride at my short, white wall. Then a well meaning friend who owned a lawn care business came over thinking he’d help out with my yard and mowed the little buggers down. It was horrific. I came out and saw cute, tiny white petals all over the yard, like a floral version of Normandy. I sat in my driveway and actually cried. Apparently he thought they were weeds or something

Now that I’m taking my gardening career a little more seriously, I decided I would try and go about it from a little more organized direction. I am doing everything from seeds this year, since I figured if I ended up botching the whole thing it would be a less expensive failure than usual. So, I was browsing through my local Colossal-and-Very-Cheap-Lots and stumbled across the seed packets. Before I knew it I had two fists full and was scurrying down the aisles trying to figure out what to put them in. That’s when I saw them: The Jiffy Pots.

Mysterious, complicated, magical, the Jiffy Pot is something I have resolutely refused to admit existed. I’m not exactly sure what my mental block with them is. I guess I’ve always felt it was an extra, unnecessary step for people that had to have predictable results. It’s like using measuring cups instead of eyeballing ingredients when you’re cooking. Where’s the adventure in that? Using the Jiffy Pot seemed a little too Martha-esque. Plus I had no idea how they worked.

For some reason, I stopped and perused them doubtfully. I zeroed in on one. It was a greenhouse kit. “Jiffy-7,” it said. “Professional Greenhouse.” I looked around me and cautiously picked it up. I was sure some kind of flower fairy was going to leap out and scream “a-ha, she’s touching it!” I read the directions and put it back down, moved on. Came back a few minutes later. This was a really long process that involved other parts of the store, but ultimately I bought it and took it home, despite the word “Professional” screaming at me in huge letters. I read the directions about ten times. I promise you that I’m not “slow” or “special.” I just really couldn’t believe it was as easy as the directions said.

So I decided to do an experiment. I planted some of my seeds directly outside. The rest I planted in the greenhouse. I filled it up with water, waited for the magic pellets to grow, fluffed and patted my seeds into the tops, then sat back to wait. It didn’t take long. Within a few days, I could see little green strands poking through. A few more days and I had definite plant-ness! I came downstairs the other morning in pre-caffeine zombie mode, saw an honest-to-goodness leaf and did a jig right there in my pj’s.

I started off with them on a table in my kitchen. Then I noticed everything that was sprouting was leaning heavily to one side. It took a minute to catch on they were looking for more sun. I moved them closer by putting them on my microwave right next to the window. They still leaned, grew, leaned some more, so I’ve taken to rotating them and chasing the sun from window to window around my place. It’s become a very carefully choreographed dance. They swish to and fro as I reposition them, kind of like their doing a super slow macarena. I guess when they start doing the “pop and lock” it’ll be time to plant them in their permanent home.

Now this is the part where my confusion takes off. I planted many different seeds: tomatoes, various peppers, herbs, a few Morning Glories, and well, I forget the rest. The directions say to put the greenhouse in a sunny window, prop the dome open when the first seedlings start to show, and when they’ve all sprouted, remove the dome. However, nothing is growing at the same rate! Almost everything said at least a couple of weeks for germination. A week later my Morning Glories and tomatoes are already hitting the dome, while none of the peppers are making an appearance of any kind.

It’s gotten to the point where Fearless Leader has taken an interest. He chides me for poking at the tomatoes, and announced this morning that the Morning Glories were ready to be planted. He scans my outside pots and shakes his head doubtfully. I’m not sure what to do here. The directions say I need to harden off the seedlings before planting them, but they aren’t all ready for that step. I supposed I could try to put the Morning Glories in another container during the day and set them on the porch.

Either way, I’m encouraged with the progress. I wish I’d tried this long ago. Maybe the seeds I planted outside are doing just fine and will flourish as well, but I like the instant gratification I’m getting from this greenhouse thing. It’s keeping me motivated. My next step is thinning out the seedlings. F.L. told me to leave them alone, lest I murder them with my unwieldy death claws. Well, if they survive that and I don’t mow the whole thing down to nothing, I’d say I’m well on my way to success.

Til next time, happy gardening!


The Awkward Gardener

Welcome to my blog. I’ve never done a formal blog before, but I’ve dabbled in writing on some social sites and found some of my stuff well received, so I decided to branch out. I hope you will find this entertaining at the very least, informative in my wildest dreams. As you read on, you will start to understand the name of my blog, so I won’t spoil the surprise.

A little about me: I’m a thirty-something divorced mom. I’ve got two of the greatest kids on the planet who share their time between me (in Kentucky), and their dad (in Florida). The weird part about that is that I’m from Florida and he’s from Kentucky. Long story. Different blog. Someday. But I digress. I’ve had many jobs from secretary right out of high school, to most recently, EMT. The latter career was cut short by an unfortunate job-related injury. I fell off a seat in a moving ambulance, because I’m graceful like that, broke my shoulder blade (an impossible break, so the docs have told me) and was put kicking and screaming on the permanent DL of EMS. I found myself jobless, living in a teeny-tiny town in Kentucky right on the border of the Ohio River called Maysville, original hometown to the Clooney clan. As in George. Another long story, but the short of it is I moved here with my fiancé, or Fearless Leader as I will refer to him. I decided to go back to school and reinvent myself all over again. Third time is a charm, so I hear. I am currently chugging through my second semester on my way to ultimately a B.A. in English with an emphasis in writing.

Soooo, seeing that I don't have enough to do what with college and all, I have decided I needed a project. This project has slowly taken seed and bloomed in my brain (if you'll pardon the pun) until I had a voilá moment. I want to create a container garden. Now while that might seem a tad mundane, let me explain where the element of excitement and danger comes in: I can kill a fake plant.

Now that doesn't keep me from planting stuff. Nosiree-bob, every year I trek off to the garden center of my closest colossal-mart for a wide assortment of soon-to-be-dead plants. I obstinately ignore the foliage trembling as I pass. Like an emperor determining a gladiator’s fate, I slowly give my victims the proverbial thumbs down by placing them in my shopping cart of death. I've always been particularly fond of bulbs. Their magnificent rate of growth is exponential to the disappointment I feel when they don't flower. But I'm usually left with an impressive array of green stalks in various planters to show off....

Anyhoo, this year I was bitten a little harder by the gardening bug than usual. I decided to branch out from dead flowers to wilting vegetables. However, I'm determined to make this year different. By that I mean something will actually survive. If I can successfully grow a single, red, reasonably round-ish tomato, I will be beside myself.

Well, that brings me to my project. Being an apartment dweller (well, townhouse dweller) I have no land to speak of, so any gardening I do is limited to what containers I can squeeze onto my tiny porch, which brings its unique set of challenges. I've actually been doing some research, and more importantly, considering actually following the advice I’m finding. I'm feeling kinda good about this. So good, in fact, that I thought it would be cool to keep a blog diary about my progress.

Please don’t be mistaken. This will not be a Martha-esque litany of tips and tricks so amazing that you will feel ashamed you never thought of them before. This will be the trials and tribulations of me and my Black Thumb of Death. I've seen a lot of good sites and blogs, some that were way too advanced, some that were just plain awful. I want to write something from the perspective of a newbie, from all the mistakes and failures to the successes and breakthroughs. I want to gain a following of readers that will not just laugh at me (which trust me, you will) but to also teach me.

So here goes. Feel free to plod along with me. Invite your friends, acquaintances, enemies, dentist, and mother-in-law. Offer your two cents, or however much you can spare.

Happy planting!

The Awkward Gardener