The latest in my quest to appear interesting: learning to garden while living in an apartment. The scene opens on a frowning newlywed, looking over her vast landscape of shriveled greens …
Gardening seems like the perfect marriage between being frugal and being domestic.
While the former is practically written in my genetic code, the latter has been a bumbling sideways journey–and a mildly entertaining blog.
Therefore, it should have been no surprise that greening up the apartment has been … challenging.
After 18 months, several psych-outs at various stores and many gardening books later and I finally put my hands into some potting soil.
There were some disasters, as there usually are when I choose to undergo a project. My brilliant decision to re-purpose a broken bowl as drainage for my pots of herbs quickly morphed into me, a hammer, and thousands of teeny pieces of pottery richocheting around my kitchen, with a few embedding themselves in my feet. My zen gardening project to get me “one with the earth” had turned into a Tim Burton movie.
Toward the end of the day, delirious from loss of blood, I triumphantly put my pots of lettuce, herbs and flowers on the kitchen table, to soak up all the sunshine and water bestowed on it from Mother Nature and Mother Hamilton, and in the coming weeks, they did start to grow.
And, anyone who has ever grown lettuce, or seen lettuce, or picked lettuce off of their Big Mac, could tell you that does not exactly look like lettuce … but I soldiered on.
Until, that is, my feline got wind of the crop.
Toona was relentless in his anti-greenery campaign, staring me down like a super bastard as he prepared each dastardly munch.
If his toothy assault on my poor veggies wasn’t bad enough, he recruited for the cause.
While Toona preferred the bold, openly defiant approach to his destructive snacking, Beef had a more boundless enthusiasm tactic as she DUG THROUGH THE DIRT AND UPENDED EVERYTHING.
My brilliant idea to grow a magnificent, twisting morning glory vine in the kitchen, which would climb up an old screen door salvaged from the alley behind our apartment, quickly turned into this one day:
So between both furry terrorists, my “container garden” currently looks like this:
The herbs I planted are on life support, and I have managed to starve the huge, beautiful and lush oregano plant my mother gifted me–out of pity. The flowers that were supposed to be in that colossal blue pot were slowly ingested by the cat.
The succulents are the only greenery that seems to be thriving, which in the immortal words of the comedian Mitch Hedburg, shows that my gardening skills are more hospitable than … A DESERT.
I still have seeds left over, and against my better judgment am tempted to try again. I paid 25 cents for those seeds, dammit!
But I may need some suggestions for better approaches to container gardening and/or possible devices to catapult my animals away from the poor sprouts.
Thoughts are always welcome. As well as some healthy, fresh herbs. 😦