Firstly, I am not going to complain about hurting my back while gardening because I realize every single time I write about picking up anything heftier than a trowel, I wind up whinging about the connection between my yard and my bad back. See? Not complaining. Lips sealed. A martyr.
So let us instead contemplate the rather straggly nature of the pots in mrpeenee’s patio. Have I been just the teensiest bit slack in maintaining them? Mmmmmmmaybe, but in my defense the rainy season here in San Francisco is now three months late and the digging up and trasnplanting of the many plants that I have put in the wrong places over the years is best done when said plants are dormant and the ground is wet enough to work without a jackhammer. During a rainy wet season, in other words which is so not happening this year. I blame George Bush. Both of them.
Since it rained last night (amazing!) I was out this afternoon to move a tiny bedraggled datura. It seemed simple enough, it always does. But the pot I wanted to move the datura to had a bunch of calla lilies I didn’t want to waste, the spot where I wanted to transplate the callas was behind a heliotrope that’s needed pruning which had to be cut back to make room for the lilies. It’s like horticulture in a row of dominoes.
Calla lilies in the wrong place.
The world’s straggliest heliotrope, desperate for a trim and a shave. With Farrah Fawcett bangs, maybe.
Did I triumph? Darling, of course. Did I lose my balance up in the bed behind the heliotrope and fall over on the other calla lilies I had been trying to protect during this move? Oh yeah, smashed those bitches flat to the ground. But they’re tough, they’ll be back.
Here’s the trouble with gardening before and after pictures: unlike rearranging furniture, plants take weeks or even years to establish and get to be the size you’re shooting for. Inevitably after one of these brutal struggles with nature, I step back and look at the pathetic runt I have so tenderly moved and think “I certainly hope I live long enough for this fucker to be worth all this.”
Someday, this pitiful stick will be a tree seven feet tall with lemon yellow and chartreuse variegated leaves and huge salmon pink trumpet flowers. Trust me.