Today I went to the farmer’s market. And they had plants.
Because it’s spring.
I think I scared my friend Kathy, since I was gibbering and giggling, which is generally not standard behavior, and dancing giddily from plant to plant. Spring makes me high. Especially REAL spring. Minnesota doesn’t have real spring. I mean, you can get plants there, and it’s exciting, but it’s not like when I was a kid in Oregon, and you can plant rocks and they’ll grow. I had a serious gardening high, which took me waaaay back. And now I have this gigantic sunny deck and only a few forlorn (though lovely) little pansies and some random herbs (including Corsican mint and lemon balm, which I grow only because my mother grew it–I have no earthly use for them, but the smell just takes me back to childhood gardening) and 5-for-a-buck dianthus currently filling up maybe a percent of it. I couldn’t get over it all–zinnias! Bleeding heart! Marigolds! Jasmine! I’ve never lived in a climate where I could grow jasmine and have it like me! Azaleas! Hydrangeas! Verbena and lantana and phlox and pinks and fifty zillion kinds of sage!
However, I was good, and restrained myself–mostly–and mainly bought some inexpensive shrubs that will fit in pots and grow large and last more than the summer and, gardening gods willing, gradually fill in a bit of the deck so that it is not a vast plain of weathered boards and those damn caltrops that are ironically known as “sweet gum balls.” And a coupla ground covers to fill in under said shrubs. We’ll see if I can actually get a butterfly bush to grow–Mom tried to grow ’em from seed a number of times, and…well, they were learning experiences. (We learned that she couldn’t grow ’em from seed, mostly.) Supposed to be a good plant for the region, though, and for five bucks, I’m willing to give it a shot. This is the Ursula method of gardening–“It’s hardy? It’s cheap? Okay, I’ll try it.” Then I lose the tag, and forget the name, and thus the joy of discovery is always new. A terrible memory and a sense of wonder can be a great combination.
And damnit–in other gardening news–I planted some climbing nasturium seeds in a pot. You cannot transplant them, so I was careful to pick a very large pot. I had a seed left over, so I shoved it idily into a pot with my freesia bulbs. And wouldn’t you know it, not a damn one came up, EXCEPT the one shoved in with the freesia? Which cannot be transplanted, because they hate that. Oh, well.
I wish I could grow foxglove in pots, but I think it’s a little too…giant.
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