I’m growing a garden. I’m not a gardener. My non-green thumbs have papercuts.
I didn’t plan spacing or grouping.
I spent $496 at Sky Nursery from a garden budget I don’t have. The dollars are now under organic soil, good for vegetables.
I’ve bought X amount of tomato plants for a child with a limited diet, yet who eats tomatoes, like how one would hand cradle and take a bite out of an apple.
I’ve built a temporary fence to keep out my dog, who is defiantly leaping over the fence and through the garden, landing in his claimed spot, previously where my favorite Pampas grass grew.
I’ve been deep into the bushes and have lost myself in the details of pruning each branch. I then step back out and look at the bigger picture, pleased to now see trees shaped and free from coats of moss.
I’ve been on my knees, propped up on elbows, crying into the dirt.
I’ve deadheaded flowers. I’ve seen new buds and blooms.
I’ve untangled webs of ivy and have decided that it’s like detangling my daughter’s hair. Patience, perseverance, and product.
I’ve unintentionally given my hands soil-tip manicures, and splinters have found ways to my toes.
I’ve curated and created, all to gain control and insight, along with my own supply of organic greens.
I do all of this because I am lost and don’t know what else to do with my life.
I am a beautiful, fat, flower, who has been wilting in the wrong flower bed, for years. Still, a flower.
I can’t seem to find my next place, so instead, I’m planting myself down in my own backyard.
I’m growing, slowly. Some days I shoot up tall, and on other days, I see no change; but I am here.
I am the gardener of my own garden, inside myself, and outside, in my backyard.
I’m tending to myself, the beautiful, fat, flower, focusing on water, food, grooming, rest and sunshine.
I don’t know where and what I will plant next, but for now, my garden is growing, and ever changing.
Isn’t this what the blog is for? ;)