Wednesday, June 18, 2014

The tragic garden.

I don't know what it is, but I have no gift for gardening. I come from city people who could make plastic flowers bloom, but out here in the sun and fresh air of the lovely Hudson Valley, I could kill crabgrass---provided the crabgrass thought I was trying to cultivate it. There's clearly some plant psychology going on here.

Even the bugs are critics.

The worst offender is the lawn itself, or as I call it, The Clover Hill Dandelion Preserve. I think it may be trying to kill me. If so, it is doing a pretty decent job. It sees me walking around on top of it, and has decided it would rather have me resting below it.

We had lots of rain so far this spring, which you'd think would help. Sure has! The mushrooms have never been more varied, plentiful, or (educated guess here) poisonous.

Everything I plant becomes a problem. Unless it's considered an invasive species, it's probably going to turn into a lump of nothing. If it does start to grow, it will choke something more expensive. And if it wins out against all odds, a plucky little ficus battling through to be a new plant or tree and bring joy for generations, I'll probably run over it accidentally with the lawn mower.

Plants I Have Cultivated:

Ginkgo Bloba
Crap Myrtle
Morning Gory
Callous Lilies
Agave Up
Arch Anemones
Pink Tarnations
Thyme Out Of Mynde
Rottenest Island Pine
Whatsit Torreya

I'm sure there is lots and lots more garbage I can try to grow, and will likely get the same results. Stay tuned!

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