Last Sunday, I must have been channeling Martha Stewart. Because I embarked on a project in an area in which I have no skill or natural ability (okay, there's more than one).
I planted containers next to my front door.
Let me start by saying that I am one of the people that silk plants were invented for. Don't get me wrong, I think flowers are lovely. I ogle plants at the arboretum and lust after the vegetation at the nursery, but when it comes to a real live plant living in my own home - it's another story.
Our current plant inventory consists of one peace plant that just won't die. We've put it in the back of a moving van from Boston to NC and it didn't die. We left it for two weeks on our honeymoon with no attention, and it bloomed. This thing is like the cockroach of the plant world.
We've also managed to keep a plant given to me by Tom Westmoreland alive, against all odds. I can only credit its continued life with the spirit in which he gave it.
I digress. Sunday morning saw me and my whole clan wandering the garden center at Lowes. WG searched for the perfect rose - a la Princess Belle. Baby B stuck his hand in every water feature displayed. Mel paced in big strides up and down the aisles with furrowed brow, looking for replacement shrubs for those lost in the drought.
I fretted over plants for the containers. It was my fourth trip to Lowes to choose plants for the containers. Fourth, this season. Each time, I chickened out. How should I know whether my front door is in full or partial sun? Which plants grow at the same rates? How do you choose based on height, color, etc. I went home, I read lots of "beginner" gardening articles on sites like About.com (who knew that was still around?)
In the end, I left Lowes with eight plants for each of two pots, three bags of potting soil and a stomach full of nerves.
WG was all smiles and giggles when we got home. She was ready for gardening action immediately. Mel settled in to watch some basketball and with Baby B asleep, there was no avoiding it.
WG and I got outside and started unloading. My neighbor across the street, June, an avid gardener herself, emerged from her house and yelled, "Corey Williams, is that you planting a flower? I'm going to pass out."
Well me too. I got all the plants in pot number one before that I-have-absolutely-no-idea-what-i'm-doing feeling set in. And I told WG it was time for a consult. We retrieved June from her yard, and augmented with tools from her garage and some plant food, she came over to teach us the fine points.
With an expert in the wings, I was finally able to relax. As it turns out, I did a good job selecting different height plants. My flowering plant will likely need to be replaced in two weeks, but that's okay, says June with a smile. WG smiled. I smiled. It was good, really really good.
So, in the end, I have two gorgeous pots next to my front door. And I have a very happy WG, who dutifully waters both plants before going to school every morning. And she can't wait to do some more planting. And truthfully, neither can I.