I have become “one of those” people. You know what I’m talking about; the person who talks about their dog or their kid or something that they’re really interested in all the time? One of those people; the ones who stand by the water cooler at work and, with a manic glint in their eye, pounce on each unsuspecting co-worker.
“Want to see pictures of Spot/Elizabeth?”
“Actually, I just wanted some water-”
“Oh my god, Spot/Elizabeth did the cutest thing the other day. You just have to get a dog/baby—they’re just the BEST!” And so they rattle on.
The thought that I might become “one of those people” never occurred to me. I have a lovely child, but having been around “those kinds of moms”, I try to keep my gushing to a minimum. I like to read, but I hate when people bore me about books I have no interest in. If there is something I’m passionate about, I try to find people who are equally passionate as well, because then we can drink and rant together. All in all, I’m pretty balanced when it comes to my interests and hobbies.
However, I really love my garden.
Through great trials, tribulations, a horrifying lack of space and sun, many failures, a few spiteful killings and a fortune on potting soil, I have, over three and a half long years, created several beautiful container gardens throughout my small apartment in downtown Austin, Texas.
I have a striking variety of herbs, flowers and vegetables on the narrow walkway in front of my apartment. My cave like back patio is home to several ivies, a hardy green fichus like critter that lives in a green pot, and one slightly traumatized succulent. (Look mommy, I’m helping!)
Inside, I am trying my hand at growing plants that don’t need sun and have a Superman like immunity to small children. So far, three stalks of bamboo are thriving, with a fichus and a spider plant both suffering from trauma similar to the succulent.
I had always assumed that everyone in my life loved my garden as much as I did. I was, like, growing things. How cool is that? I just knew that they, like me, thought about my budding garden several times a day and viewed my incredible attempt at creating life with the same warmth and enthusiasm that I do. I felt in my soul that they were as excited as I was when my lettuce plants sprouted and grew into lush, yummy plants and I knew that they grieved with me when every single scallion seedling I sprouted last winter died a tragic death at the hands of my toddler.
However, I recently cornered a woman who was picking up a kombucha mushroom I’d advertised on Craigslist.com, and told her my plans for creating an herb garden. After talking for five minutes about how I was worried about my sage plants because the last time I had tried growing sage, it had all died and so I had chosen two kinds of sage and wasn’t the purple variegated sage gorgeous; I knew I had a problem.
It wasn’t that I had been talking about sage for five minutes without taking a breath; it was the look in her eyes. The look of tired resignation that I recognized, with growing horror, as wearing myself when I’ve been trapped by the most recent person in my life who has acquired a dog or a baby.
Although, come to think about it, I probably should have been concerned when a picture of my back patio table, which is home to the aforementioned succulent, replaced my son as my cell phone back drop.
So, apparently, I am “that person” when it comes to my container garden. I am the person who talks about her plants constantly, who emails her best friend when each and every seedling sprouts, who buys decorative pots and organic fertilizer instead of shoes and who, after gifting a friend with three plants and all of those plants dying, plans on giving said friend a cactus. (I am assuming that there are more people like me; however, I may just be trying to comfort myself.)
Forget dogs and babies; plants are cool. I love my plants. I love the way they smell, they way they look and they way they taste. I love cutting a sprig from my bright red snapdragon, putting it in my wall vase and looking at it for the next few days. I love kneeling on my walkway in the evening and clipping oregano, thyme, rosemary and basil to put in that night’s dinner. I am giddy at thought of seeing my first attempts a growing daffodils blossom into lush yellow flowers. And, I have been known to withhold sex if my husband doesn’t immediately notice that I transplanted the oregano to the old spinach pot, replaced the chives with a roman chamomile and bought a new variety of basil.
I believe that everyone can grow a beautiful container garden if they want too. No matter the space, the sun, how much time they have available, the lack of experience or how great the fear of dirt, everyone is capable of cultivating a container garden. Becoming a scary garden lady, though…I think that’s special
how cool is that?
missyann