Growing your Goods.
I gardened yesterday. Yes, I, did. In high school, under the 90 degree D.C. heat, I used to proclaim: I will never garden. Cursing my parents enormous yard, I declared their desire to have a beautiful garden an abuse of plants and children. Up to a year ago, I would tell friends about mowing the lawn before or after running four races in track meets, in order to garner sympathy due to my obviously abusive parents. However, I turned a new leaf (haha, puns are annoying).
I can blame basil, really. When A. and I lived on the thirteenth, yes the thirteenth, floor of an Arlington building, I planted my first basil to save money. I became oddly proud of our freakishly large plant. Look! I can keep a plant alive! Considering, I managed to keep two cats alive, one who needs a daily I.V, one would think this wouldn’t be a hard feat. However, I never managed to keep plants alive. When we moved to our townhouse, our deck became littered with odd herbs. At first, I could only keep edible plants alive. However, last year, my mom came and helped me plant our front lot. I realized I could keep all sorts of plants alive, and became obsessed with my hydrangea. A., look at my beau-ti-ful hydrangea! Isn’t it gorgeous! Do you think it will grow to be a huge hydrangea? huh? huh? He almost issued divorce papers.
This year, I am taking the jump, plunging into the deep, taking a risk. A friend negotiated a plot at a community garden for me. The past three weeks I weeded for hours, mowed, mulched, planted marigolds, A. even helped. Now, I am ready to plant my veggies. I could not be more excited to have homemade organics. So, I guess this the spot where I need to say, I am thankful for knowing the pleasures of gardening. OK, Mom and Dad, you win.