In the Beginning...

Well, I heard somewhere that a bunch of people were hopping on the blogging bandwagon, and as I am never one to pass up integrating whole heartedly with the crowd, I decided to ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch -check it out. Maybe see wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what's it all about.
So the purpose of my blog will be to follow my, likely failing, attempts at gardening. I have always loved gardening, but in an off-hand, oh-those-are-pretty-flowers, 'ya I don't mind getting dirty' sort of way. My mother is the superb gardener in my life. My father once said, in possibly the most romantic thing I have ever heard him say about my mother, that she has the uncanny ability to make things grow. My mother can take the most abandoned, neglected, almost-close-to-prostitution-because-it-is-so-desperate flower from the side of the road and transform it. This transformation could occur over a year or over a few days; regardless, it always flourishes. She has the touch, pure and simple. When I was sick a few years back she gave me two flowers; a dwarf Iris and a small rose bush. At first I reveled in taking care of them, and considered myself to be pretty awesome plant wise as I hadn't managed to a) kill them by dehydration, b) kill them by drowning or c) knock them off my window ledge three stories to the alley below. Of course, as soon as I began to get healthier I began to ignore them, and like any neglected child they naturally turned to hard drugs and crime. That is until my mother, Patron Saint of Forgotten Flowers, took them under her wing. The Iris prospered happily until it met a sad end at the paws of one of my cats. The rose? The one that had been a sickly little shrub without so much as a promise of a bloom? It proliferated into a large-ish (it was still a small plant) rose bush, covered with blooms. That little rose bush survived a few years on the window ledge of our kitchen during the winter, and the stone patio outside during the spring and summer. So now I feel like the hot girl in high-school who picked on the two nerds and now they're both media-execs or whatever and spend their lives living Ralph Lauren ads. Unfortunately, both these execs lost their lives at the cruel hands of pets; the Iris to the aformentioned cat and the rosebush to our new puppy, which pulled it off the ledge after years of having lived there.

My mother has an unbelievable gift with plants, I however, do not. I can only hope that my garden, which will be spread across my roof top for full sun-part shade plants and in my gardens for full shade - Part shade plants, will even make it off the ground. Right now it's just a shimmering little seed, germinating away in my mind. Whether it comes to fruition or not is entirely dependent on whether or not I get a) bored b) lazy or c) over worked. I really hope I can manage this garden, even if it ends up being just a few plants and not the jungle I'm imagining. The joy that flowers can bring in the day to day, whether it be fresh, cut, wild, or painted, is something that I can only compare to baby lambs, puppies and kittens; fascination, anticipation, beauty and overall splendor.. without the peeing everywhere.

So my little blogger friends (who I am sure do not exist as of yet), I leave you with a firm goodbye, and a pinch of hopefulness. Followed by a STRONG dash of skepticism.

Yours,