When it comes to gardening, I’m all purple thumbs. And it’s not entirely my fault… the peninsula has very poor soil and lots of cool misty days, which doesn’t amount to much of a growing season. But I have, on occasion, tried to buck the odds. (A moment of silence here for all the plants which did not make it.)
After much trial and error in the vegetable garden realm, I decided to focus exclusively on rhododendrons and roses. The rhododendrons did, and continue to do, just fine. In hindsight, I should have selected moss as my other plant choice.
I got a rose catalog from Jackson and Perkins. I ordered eight different varieties, wooed by the beautiful pictures. Perhaps I should have read the fine print. The first year I discovered that “may not do well in foggy coastal climes” really means that the bud will develop a fuzzy black mold and never open. So much for roses.
A few years ago I dug a four-inch by eight-foot trench across the sunniest part of my yard. I installed a makeshift wire fence down the center of the row and planted sweet peas. Sweet peas were Grandpa’s favorite flower, and their fragrance is incredible. But timing is everything, and I didn’t get any blooms until October, just days before the first frost.
I persevered. The next year I had a handful of blooms in August; I’m blaming the mole infestation. Last year I had trouble nurturing the stems to any blossoms at all. Maybe I should have watered them more often. Maybe I over-watered.
This year I started earlier. Soaked the seeds for a couple days. Mulched a whole bag of potting soil into the ground before planting. To date, I’ve been rewarded with a nice row of healthy-looking sprouts. An eternal optimist, I’m imagining bouquets of pungent sweet peas in every room of my home. Or maybe just in the dining room.
What flowers I get, I will happily cherish. They are a precious gift. And when the rain falls, I will know that God is watering the sweet peas, and be grateful.
Yep, there’s a moral there.