The trusty interwebs tell me these are daffodils. In MY yard!
My grandma always called them Easter flowers. You know, because they rise up every spring from the dead winter ground. Perennial. I know that word.
Still, I fear I should have used zoom to capture the above picture. For you see, I am dangerous to plants. I've killed off low-maintenance rock stars like cactus and bamboo. In childhood, when my girl scout troop-mates grew flowers and veggies from seeds, I habitually ended up with a half-pint milk carton of dirt. Just, dirt.
Must I accept this as destiny? No I say! I don't know how many innocent plants will have to die. But I will grow something. Oh yes. I will grow something. In fact, I am tending a sweet tater vine right now.
Matchin my ambition to my abilities
They let preschoolers grow these. Call it a confidence-builder, assuming the damn thing survives. Look closely; I've spotted three roots poking through!
It's alive... it's alive... IT'S ALIVE!
Jamie's magnificent garden blog gets me inspired and keeps me motivated. She informs me I ought not to worry, even though the water was turning cloudy and starting to reek. Don't panic, just change the water. Genius! And she didn't even call me a dumbass.
On her advice I'm also gonna start a windowsill herb garden. Can't you just picture me picking fresh basil for yummy spaghetti sauce? No? Me neither. But I'm gonna try, dammit.
Anyone else out there garden impaired? Or overcome a similar impairment? Actually, maybe don't answer that. I will relentlessly bug you with boneheaded questions. Ask poor Jamie...
Garden inspired is what I like to call it!!!
ReplyDeleteOur first day of spring calls for 9 inches of snow. No joke. Northwest Arkansas. If it makes you feel better, the entire globe is experience the warmest Dec-Feb on record. On record people.
Trays of seedlings have invaded my table top workspace. Raised beds are in the ground, but we are still waiting on compost from the city.