Finally!
Tha season, has turn, turn, turned.
Since the beginning of '11 here in Buckeyeland we have had snow and cold, which at a certain point turned into daily rain and chilly temps. After three months of rainy days and Mondays, just this past week it took the turn for straight up summer. No gradual spring time warming up. No bullshit nice day here, bad day there-ness. Nope. I'm talkin', Thursday: 61 with 23 1/2 hours of rain...Friday: 92 with high humidity, an air quality alert and one of those high sun index rating dealys. (I'm not complaining. Alright, it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. I'm not complaining about the weather at least.)
With the sky and soil finally dry I got about the bidness of planning one of my least favorite days of the year. Planting day.
Ugh. I find gardening torturous. I hate the dirt involved. Since I have to live with these plants all summer, I find myself spending too much brain power trying to decide which plants I'm still going to like looking at every day for the next 3-4 months. (I don't know what I'm gonna want for dinner tonight, how can I know that plant is still going to make me happy in 90 days?) They can't require any effort on my part to live, other than water. No deadheading 'round here, unless I'm jammin' to Uncle John's Band or Sugar Magnolia. I feel I have my hands full trying to keep Uncle John and me alive, so I can only devote so much effort to keeping some plants alive.
In addition to those self imposedand ridiculous botany rules, because I am a poor matcher, I am only able to select flowers in the colors chosen on any given year. Last year was white, lavender/blue/purples. (See! I even need plant life to be Granimal-ized.) This year it has been decreed that white and pink are the colors of choice. Unfortunately, picking flowers by color vs. by sun needed and other plant-y details, which I don't have a firm grasp on, tends to yield sketchy results.
I hate the pressure of trying to select the right plants, in the right amounts. I hate going to the nursery. I hate the feeling of dirt under my nails. I hate having to wear my hot (and slightly fabulous) gardening gloves. I hate having to clean all of the remnants of plant life used last year from each pot. By the end of the season I'm o-v-e-r plants and anything to do with them. (Seems like every year by August, I have managed to utter the phrase, "die fuckers, die" at them when daily waterings have become too the fuck much. ..."They" say you should talk to your plants...) I've spent a 1/4 of the year trying to keep them alive. I'm done. While I know the obvious solution is to clean the fuckin' pots out in the fall, but then I'd have 2 days involving gardening that I loathe. ...And how's that better?
Before/After:
I even stained the hot tub and steps to match the deck.
Sweaty, hot, dirty and kinda cranky. But done!! Not another planting day for another 10 months or so. To wit I say: Amen.
Tha season, has turn, turn, turned.
Since the beginning of '11 here in Buckeyeland we have had snow and cold, which at a certain point turned into daily rain and chilly temps. After three months of rainy days and Mondays, just this past week it took the turn for straight up summer. No gradual spring time warming up. No bullshit nice day here, bad day there-ness. Nope. I'm talkin', Thursday: 61 with 23 1/2 hours of rain...Friday: 92 with high humidity, an air quality alert and one of those high sun index rating dealys. (I'm not complaining. Alright, it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. I'm not complaining about the weather at least.)
With the sky and soil finally dry I got about the bidness of planning one of my least favorite days of the year. Planting day.
Ugh. I find gardening torturous. I hate the dirt involved. Since I have to live with these plants all summer, I find myself spending too much brain power trying to decide which plants I'm still going to like looking at every day for the next 3-4 months. (I don't know what I'm gonna want for dinner tonight, how can I know that plant is still going to make me happy in 90 days?) They can't require any effort on my part to live, other than water. No deadheading 'round here, unless I'm jammin' to Uncle John's Band or Sugar Magnolia. I feel I have my hands full trying to keep Uncle John and me alive, so I can only devote so much effort to keeping some plants alive.
In addition to those self imposed
I hate the pressure of trying to select the right plants, in the right amounts. I hate going to the nursery. I hate the feeling of dirt under my nails. I hate having to wear my hot (and slightly fabulous) gardening gloves. I hate having to clean all of the remnants of plant life used last year from each pot. By the end of the season I'm o-v-e-r plants and anything to do with them. (Seems like every year by August, I have managed to utter the phrase, "die fuckers, die" at them when daily waterings have become too the fuck much. ..."They" say you should talk to your plants...) I've spent a 1/4 of the year trying to keep them alive. I'm done. While I know the obvious solution is to clean the fuckin' pots out in the fall, but then I'd have 2 days involving gardening that I loathe. ...And how's that better?
Before/After:
(The mulch men come next week.)
I even stained the hot tub and steps to match the deck.
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