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