Life may be weird right now, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever done the official May-Long-Weekend planting thing. This is unusual because it’s very rare that I have my s*** together in time for the official start of gardening season in Canada (funny sidenote: Google voice-to-text bleeped that for me. I can just hear Not-Siri rebuking me in that unimpressed tone of hers).
Anyhow, through sheer dumb luck an order of plants I placed at Richmond Nurseries was ready yesterday, so I spent the morning putting stuff into pots: two tomatoes (one for slicing, one grape tomato), an eggplant, rosemary, and a Thai basil in pots out front; assorted salad greens and some parsley out back. Then there’s the herb garden on the counter (started pre-Covid, currently being expanded), and 4-5 jars of sprouts (amusing mostly because Meena and Kitty react with mock horror that I eat plants while they’re STILL ALIVE).
Put it all together and you could be forgiven for thinking I have a green thumb. I don’t.
I actually have a horrible record for “real” gardens, much to the chagrin of my neighbours who i’m sure would like me to do something with the post-apocalyptic disaster that is our flower bed. I just can’t bring myself to spend hours kneeling or bent over double for something that’s just there to look pretty. Growing my own eggplant on the other hand, now that’s pretty cool. And when I practically have to trip over the pots to get into the house, then I’m more likely to water them.
At least, that’s the theory. And sometimes it even works. We’ll see how that goes now that I only ever leave the house for my weekly grocery excursion.