Hello and welcome to an absolutely steamy Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is June 5th.
My husband planted a dozen tomato plants and two and a half
(short) rows of peas before his trip to the Czech Republic and, good Lord, I
wish he hadn’t.
I am terrible with plants. And I’m not being too hard on
myself or having low self-esteem issues. This is the straight-up truth. Let me
present the evidence.
The number of plants my children have brought home from
school/science projects that have survived?
Zero.
And yes, I’m sure.
Look around my house and you will notice an absence of
plants. (Disclaimer: Okay, we have one – an aloe plant, but it’s not mine and I
take no responsibility for it which might explain why it’s still alive.)
I have years of bad experiences under my belt, but let’s
just take a look at this year, shall we?
The first plant to come home this year was a perky, healthy
tomato plant in a plastic, pink-kitty pot. A class project, the Third Grader
was especially proud of her artwork.
A tomato plant I could work with, I thought. They only had to
stay in the house for a little while before Dad could transplant it in the
greenhouse.
And everything was going great. We placed it by the living
room window. We made sure we didn’t overwater it. And it grew! However, the
weight of the leaves caused the plant to lean. I thought, If I just lift it a
bit and maybe tuck the stem further into the soil it will be – snap! –
Then the Third Grader brought home a gorgeous little
succulent and gifted it to me for Mother’s Day. I even shared a photo of it on
the blog! I love succulents. They are the perfect low-maintenance plant for me.
I set it on the kitchen counter where I could keep a diligent eye on it. “Just
water it once a week, Mommy!” she said. Mondays became “Watering Mondays” and I
was ready.
I am sure that I
watered it only a smidge and I’m sure
it was only on Monday. Regardless, something wasn’t quite right. The bottom
leaves were turning brown. Well, no problem. I knew from the Oldest’s (also
failed) attempts at keeping a succulent alive in her dorm that the bottom
leaves turn brown and you pluck them off. No biggie.
I nudged the plant gently to the side to tug off a browning
leaf and the whole plant came out of the soil. It wasn’t even anchored in the soil. (“What kind of
cut-rate production is this?” the famous Pixar voice of John Ratzenberger
boomed in my head.) I put the plant back in place and reasoned that, if I left
it alone, perhaps the roots would, you know, take root. Or something else magical
and, thus, out of the realm of my power would take over.
Then, I noticed the dirt was moist. Like, above-average moist. As in, someone else
must have watered the succulent too because, as I said, I’m sure I only added a smidge and I’m sure it was only on Mondays. The leaves’
fleshy purple was beginning to fade to a despairing pink.
This brought back a memory of a tool I once used while
taking care of someone else’s plants. I know. Why would a friend who truly knows me entrust her houseplants to me? Because of this tool she had for
checking the moisture levels in the soil. Google tells me it’s called a “soil
moisture meter” - virtually making plant watering idiot-proof.
“It needs sunlight!” the Kindergartener counseled and set the
suffering succulent in the center of the deck where it sat bathed in sunshine.
Then it rained.
Like. A lot.
For days.
That poor plant suffered death by drowning.
I remembered that the Second Oldest had a similar succulent
on a shelf in his bedroom. Maybe I could swap them out. Who would know?
It was dead, too. Death by drought, in this sorry case.
Then the Third Grader brought home the last plant of the
school year: a super cute “monster” with a head of grass.
Grass! All right!
I can work with grass. Who can kill grass?
This lady right here. That’s who.
I think my mistake was giving it a haircut. I was sure that giving his long, vibrant green
strands a trim would stimulate further healthy growth. I mean, isn’t that what
happens to human hair? And look how fast the lawn grows. Sometimes we have to
cut it twice a week!
Or maybe the problem was that I didn’t transplant it soon
enough. In my defense, the grass grew so
fast. It even pushed the dirt up and out of the plastic Dixie cup head. (Okay, truth: It’s
still sitting in the same cup.) But, again, in my defense, the Third Grader had
clearly invested a lot of time and creativity in the monster face on the cup. I
just couldn’t separate the monster cup “head” from the grassy “hair.”
The WAKWIR* was the first to notice the white fuzzy moss growing on
the grass monster’s scalp. “Mom! He’s not getting enough sunlight!” Like a
dutiful, loving mother should, I picked all the fuzz out of the grass. Unfortunately,
even with the (well-intentioned, yet short on follow-through) regimented
haircare routine, the cute monster my daughter came home with is now truly a
horror show with a blunt, browned crew cut with a patch of stringy, pale green
strands sprouting out of one side.
And it’s best not to speak of the zinnias the Kindergartener
came home with. Perhaps if we don’t mention them, he won’t remember.
But, by golly, I have been trying my darnedest to keep the tomato
plants alive. And with a week of rain, followed by frost, and now a heatwave –
it hasn’t been easy. I inspected yellowed leaves. I tested the soil for
moisture like I would a baked cake for doneness. I weeded. I even googled. Only one plant has died. I noticed two more look like they've been chewed at the base of the stalks. "Cutworms," a friend gasped. (So, not my fault.) The peas are actually fairing pretty well, but they are getting big and unruly enough to need some kind of sticks or fencing to climb. Hubby comes home today and I can’t wait to hand him back his plants.
Just when I thought I was off the horticulture hook, the
Second Oldest gifted me a small, tender shoot of a Bleeding heart for my
birthday. I love Bleeding hearts. I
have wanted a Bleeding heart plant in forever, but have never trusted myself
with one because, well – you know.
P.S. Are you a plant whisperer? If you are, comment below
and help a lady get a green thumb! My plants (and family) will thank you!
On This Day
Remembering You
Kim
*Wannaskan Almanac Kid Writer-in-Residence
The best thing about gardens Kim, is that at some point it truly is too late. The Bradbury quote today is appropriate. Your post had several chuckles sprouting in me.
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