May 17, 2008

Sowing My Wild Oats

I was sitting at the table reading the papers and drinking tea this morning, as always. I'm so predictable, it's sick. We were having a bag o' dirt delivered first thing, but I'd still neglected to pull on some clothes or brush my hair. Sure enough, I heard the little scooter truck trundling up the driveway, bearing a yard of soil like an offering from the gardening gods. I yelped at Poor Sod to get out there as I scribbled a cheque. It was okay for him to go out there in his jammma bottoms, but not me.

It started to rain, as promised. I wondered how long I could delay distributing the dirt. Looking up, I saw my neighbour Jayne coming across the court. "There's a perennial sale. Come on," she said. We often garden together. Everything she plants flourishes; everything I plant dies. I ran upstairs, pulled on yesterday's clothes and off we went.

The sale was less than promised, so we did the only thing we could. We went for lattes. I sat there in Second Cup, in my steel toed boots, baseball cap and grubby pants. Jayne never looks grubby. We elected to head up to a bigger gardening centre. It rained harder.

In the pouring rain, we carefully selected perennials. There was much oohing and aahing. Jayne checks out plants heights, sun vs shade, and soil conditions. I like plants that look like they come from a Dr. Suess book. With a buggy laden with bits of this and that, we filled up the back of the van and headed home. I bought this Japanese tree thing that came with a one-year warranty. I will carefully tuck that warranty away, because I can guarantee I will be returning a dead stick for a new one.

The sun is struggling to come out, and I hope it wins. I have a big bag of dirt and a bunch of bug-eyed plants to put in the garden. After I put them in, Arlene or Roz will come over and tell me to replant them in the proper spots. Arlene will also ask me things like, "what was it about this plant you liked again?". I like the faith I feel at this time of year, and I like the promise. I know I will smell garlic as I dig around in the soil, my Dad talking to me. I will laugh and cry at the same time.

Mostly, I like that it never diminishes, regardless of the fact that things rarely turn out as planned. Maybe that's even that part I like best of all.

I am an eclectic gardener.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Lorraine, so how is the dirt? Still top soil or a pile of mud?

May 19, 2008 5:54 AM  

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