Tag Archives: Rose

Flower Child

Image by wal_172619 from Pixabay.

Trendy, multicolored foliage is attractive. Sophisticated.

But bunches of leaves don’t excite me. Flowerpots and flower beds should contain flowers.

My mom’s Rose of Sharon ladies often graced the tea parties my sister and I gave.

As a child, I cherished my mother’s roses. Is there such a thing as too much love? Probably, as I nosed them frequently. Mom also created Rose of Sharon ladies for my sister and me. Turning the bell-shaped flowers upside down, she made petal gowns and attached blossoming buds for headdresses. Voila! Ladies at an elegant tea party.

I prefer flowers to pets. They don’t bark or yowl under my window at midnight. They never awaken me at six a.m.

My passion sent me — er, my husband — into our grass-only backyard with his mighty tiller. This sun-fried area already had killed redbuds, lilacs and a rosebush. To console me, Hubby had built an arbor on which we hung pots of geraniums and petunias. Most survived. Sufficient … for a while.

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay.

This flower child wanted more. Vision of multicolored loveliness danced through my head.

Hubby wasn’t into visions. He’s all about measurements. “How long do you want this flower bed? How wide? Square? Rectangle?”

“I want an oval.”

If I’d shaped the flower bed, it would have resembled a giant amoeba. Using his trusty tape measure, though, Hubby designed a perfect, 15-foot oval. Then he tackled removing sod.

I ordered bulk seeds. No more skinny packets for this flower child. No more dead, expensive perennials. My oval would teem with thrifty zinnias, cosmos and marigolds that love to sunbathe. They defy weeds. They may even chomp on them at night.

Although five pounds of seeds amounted to, um … a lot.

“Let’s fill the yard with marigolds,” I told Hubby. “You’ll never have to mow again.”

Image by Bishnu Sarangi from Pixabay.

“Sure. If you want to dig out all the sod.”

I withdrew my motion.

Having raked compost and manure (hey, I worked, too), I broadcast seeds throughout my oval, then sowed them in other flower beds. Offered them to friends. Sneaked baggies of seeds into mailboxes at night.

Now, yellow, pink, orange, red, fuchsia and white blossoms dip and wave in a lovely backyard ballet.

Enough flower power for even this flower child.

I haven’t used/given away all my seed. New amoeba-shaped flowerbeds may be in my future.

And if you check your mailbox for baggies, maybe in yours?

Even Hubby agrees the work was worth it.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What are your favorite summertime flowers?

Help for Gardening Addicts

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.

Gardening addicts. Never leave them alone at a garden center or nursery, where obliging, devious personnel help them take out a second mortgage to buy the last bougainvillea. This, though the tropical lovelies prefer Argentina over Indiana.

Younger junkies fall victim to buying binges after watching HGTV. However, gardening addiction does its worst damage in women of a certain age.

They should know better than to trust this mad urge to nurture. Most spent decades caring for little humans. They’ve repressed memories of endless feedings — and the waterings with which baby sprouts responded. These women dealt daily with mountains of fertilizer. Eventually wising up, they limited the number of nurturees they’d cultivate.

However, spring gardening regenerates the madness. While spouses are playing golf, the women load up with 35 flats of annuals, 37 bags of potting soil and barrels of pansies, adding just one more hanging basket here. Another there. How can they ignore wilted tomato seedlings? With their TLC, the weaklings will flourish.

Addicts.

Image by Marin from Pixabay.

With symptoms listed below, I hope to alert family and friends of this malady.

Signs of Gardening Addiction

Early Level

  • Switching from a regular cart to one the size of a brontosaurus.
  • Bragging to strangers about how many green beans she grew last year.
  • Fibbing about extra trips to garden centers.
  • Claiming kids/grandkids are responsible for dirt in the car.

Second Level

  • Bragging to strangers about how many zucchinis they forced on friends last year.
  • Buying seeds by the pound on the Internet.
  • Claiming proud ownership of 234 flowerpots stacked in the garage.
  • Delighting in the $1,000 tiller her husband gave her for their anniversary.
Okay, so I filled the brontosaurus-sized cart. If Hubby hadn’t been present, I might have filled five.

Third Level

  • Hijacking a brontosaurus cart at gunpoint.
  • Shoplifting bags of manure.
  • Buying seeds by the barrel.
  • Claiming proud ownership of 9,781 flowerpots stacked in the garage.
  • Organizing neighborhood kids for a dandelion-blowing party at a rival’s gardens.

Final Level

Image by Opal RT from Pixabay.
  • Buying an authentic Sweet Juliet Rose. The original plant sold for $15.8 million.

I am proud to inform readers, as well as my spouse, that today, I didn’t brag to a single stranger about green beans or zucchini. I bypassed needy tomato seedlings. I kept my regular cart and made a single purchase.

“Only one?” Hubby blinks in disbelief.

“Only one,” I assure him.

“A rosebush.”

These plants just had to go home with me. Who could resist?

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Are you a gardening addict?