I like to pretend that I can grow things. I mean, I do the obligatory, suburban, prettifying every summer--petunias mostly, because they're hard to kill. I have a few plants in the house--ivy, a spider plant, and a bamboo that I've managed to keep alive for 4 years, despite my dedicated attempts obliterate it.
Last year, I wanted a garden. I had dreams of growing my own peas, lettuce, berries, tomatoes, cucumbers, and so on. I wanted to not make my weekly sojourn to the grocery store to buy pesticide-laden produce or overpriced organic greens. Oh, the plans I had!
Instead, I got a patio.
Don't get me wrong, I looooove the patio Babe created. It's huge! Large enough, in fact, that I was going to be able to have a patio garden, in pots, but still, I would be able to grow things!
Um. Did I mention that I've never grown anything from scratch?
In my dream-garden's initial stages, I started some greenery from seeds: basil, chives, peppers, lettuce, and cilantro. I felt like a new mother when those little seedlings popped up and turned their faces to the sun. I watered them, made sure they had enough sun, and I kept the kids away from them, lest they try to eat them.
Then, I went out of town...and returned to carnage. I forgot to have someone come over and water the poor things and they were burnt to a crisp....all except for 2 pepper seedlings. I transplanted him and set him outside to see what he would do.
Imagine my surprise when, lo and behold, flowers started to appear, then peppers! Of course, the peppers arrived right before the first frost, so I brought the little guy inside to see how he'd do.
As you can see from the picture above, he's doing okay. Reaching his spindly leaves towards the sun, but flowering and producing peppers, still, in February.
I plan to repay his fortitude by planting him outside this summer.
I've been promised a garden.
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