In theory I really like gardening. Having fresh food spring from the earth is pretty spectacular, whether it’s a darling container garden, a clearly-lined veggie patch, or a wild mess. But for some reason I have trouble getting it to work for me.
I don’t have an outside, in-ground garden. No neat rows, labeled and carefully tilled. I have some plants in pots.
Some are outside, some inside. They tend to die.
I had a fern in the bathroom. Something about steam from the bath and it was shady so ferns would love it. I got concerned when it started dropping leaves. I thought, maybe it needs more sun–so I stuck it on the kitchen counter. It dropped a lot of leaves. I thought, maybe it needs more water–so I drenched it thoroughly. It dropped more leaves. I thought, maybe I’m overwatering and the roots are rotting–I decided to leave it alone. It’s stopped its major leaf-dropping. I still don’t know what to do for it. It hangs out on the kitchen counter, spindly and few-leafed.
But I press on. I snipped a sprig of mint from my parents’ house. They never do anything to care for it, but it grows happily. I’m hoping I might get it to do the same at my house.
I also bought a pot of basil seedlings at the farmer’s market this morning. How hard is it to grow basil? I asked the lady. Hard, she answered.
So I split it into three pots, put them in different places, and am hoping for the best.