I've never really gardened. Growing up, I sprouted beans and tomatoes in various grade school classes. I remember my dad mowing over my tomato plant on three separate occasions. I remember sprouting carnations and getting them about 2 inches high before my dad mistook them for weeds and applied industrial strength weed-killer to my flower bed. I never really gardened because I never had a safe place to garden.
In college, I learned the joy of container gardening. My windowsill garden contained African violets, bamboo, the saddest bonsai tree I have ever seen, and cacti. Everyone grew cacti in college. College had its own problems for an aspiring green thumb. Weekend trips to the beach, study abroad, and school breaks meant transporting my portable garden frequently, and sometimes leaving it with friends and family. This was not terribly conducive to any of the plants, except the cacti. They just wouldn't die.
So, finally, I have a yard. And gardens. And vegetables. I keep getting ahead of myself. I want to plant lilac and hydrangeas and some ferns and butternut squash and carnations and and and I have to remember that I live here now. I'm not going anywhere and neither are my plants (so long as I take care of them, of course).
I have a little piece of Earth to call my own, and so I'll cover it in flowers and fruits.
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