Think about combining a childhood spent pulling weeds with a veritable hatred of dirt and bugs; gardening shouldn’t be my first choice. It must be in the blood. My mother and my grandmother were committed gardeners. My mother used to complain about housework but extolled the virtues of planning, planting, and harvesting, with everything that came in between. My grandmother raised crop after crop of vegetables that just in the last ten years have hit the groceries – I remember her giving us slices of just-picked, just-cleaned kohlrabi.
But gardening isn’t what I would have chosen when I thought about retirement. A few events conspired to get me to this place. A second marriage moved me to four acres in Kansas where the land is flat and the soil needs serious amendment. You can’t live on four acres and not have a garden – at least I can’t.
And, I never met a flower I didn’t love. The idea of planting any flower within reason – meaning that will survive zone 5 – tempts me beyond reason. Also beyond fear of bugs.
Finally, I have a dear friend who is a master gardener and who has encouraged me to take this step outside my comfort zone.
So here it is. New Gardening Blues. Full of the foibles, faults, and failures of the beginning gardener. Let’s play in the dirt together!