Confessions of a Lousy Gardener

Well, it's spring, and the gardening season has begun. All my friends will soon be happily posting pictures of their colorful vegetables and their lovely bouquets. I, on the other hand, look out upon a sad, scraggly lawn, and beyond it, a tiny patch of - ahem - "garden". It looks like more lawn, I know, or confused weeds in rows. But it's my last pathetic attempt at being a gardener.

Sigh.

When I first moved to the country, I was smitten. I was ready to take over the world and fill it with flowers! Let's put a garden here! And here! Bulbs! Perennials! In that first flush of enthusiasm I put flowerbeds on all sides of the house. I read every book on gardening I could get my hands on, taking copious notes that I never read again.

Then reality hit.

Gardening teaches you a lot about your faults. Your character. Your fortitude and the real depth of your supposed 'love of nature'. I discovered I was an indifferent and sporadic gardener. I just like the thought of gardens. I like the idea of being an earth mother, but really I'm just an onlooker.

Here's what I discovered I hated about gardening:

Weather. It never rained enough. It rained too much. It was too cold. It was too hot. There was a late frost. There was an early frost. Stupid weather.

Watering. My plants were always needing water! Whiners, every one of them! I'd half-heartedly drag the hose over and water them, but never, it seemed, for long enough. Mostly, I'd just hope for rain.

Weeds. Endless weeds. Weeds everywhere, poking their noses up in MY garden, choking out my lovely plants. The quack grass spread underground with roots like ropes, while above the Creeping Charlie marched across the flowerbeds. Gardening is for the tough folks who aren't afraid to put on those gloves and kneel down with a trowel and dig. Me? I'd give a few half-hearted tugs and give up. My plants didn't stand a chance.

Unpredictability. Nothing ever did what I wanted. My plants grew too tall, or didn't grow at all. They flopped over. They disappeared and popped up in the middle of the lawn. They spread out and hogged all the space. They drove me nuts!

Mind you, I tried. I'd move the obnoxious ones to places where they could take over. I'd plant easier flowers and promise to water them, then forget. I'd scratch my head and make new plans every winter and vow to do better.

Still, every summer I watched my gardens slowly slide into chaos. By mid-July I would rebel. Who cared, anyway? I'd march right past those stupid flowerbeds and go read a good book.

It took me a long time to accept the truth. Slowly I changed my ways. One by one my gardens faded away, taken over by grass, dandelions and milkweed. Native plants are good for the ecosystem, right?

So if you're one of us, the non-gardeners, don't feel embarrassed. We don't have to struggle to be someone we're not. We can buy flowers and veggies at the farmer's market. We can admire our friends' gardens, and let them feel smug.

So here's to you, you hard-working gardeners with calloused hands and dirt under your nails. I admire you, but every plant in my corner of the world is happier without my meddling. Sitting here in the shade with my book in my lap, I raise my glass of lemonade to you! You who are about to weed, we salute you!