Every spring, without fail, I see plants begin to bloom and nature taking its course, and I have the same thought: I should have plants! I should totally grow something!
By the end of the summer, I’ve managed to kill all manner of plants: tomatoes in buckets, herbs on the windowsill, flowers planted in hanging baskets, ferns on the back porch… I’ve killed some cacti along the way, too.
You know where this is going, right?
It’s spring in Chicago (earlier and lovelier than any spring yet in my five years here), and things are blossoming everywhere. That tree-that-smells-like-ass-but-looks-pretty bloomed really early, and I passed a grove of them every day on my way to work. Tulips were sprouting (and beautiful) weeks before Easter. There’s a lovely bush down the street from me that has fragrant white clusters dangling, and I catch floral whiffs every time I pass while walking the muppet-dog.
The thought appeared again: PLANTS! This year, I will keep them alive!
What can I say? I’m an eternal optimist about my own gardening skills. The Hubbs and I had a rare day off together and explored the local garden shop, where I selected a few victims: tiny succulents too irresistible to leave alone.
The Hubbs is in charge of watering them, to minimize the chance of my murderous past resurfacing. Wish those little guys luck! They’ll need it in this house.
Plants from Sprout Home
Pots/jars/planters scavenged from our basement storage unit