Not A Green Thumb

I do not have a green thumb. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to grow one either. I have watched my mother for years grow great things and enjoy it. I was raised helping her – alongside my sisters and father – make things bloom and prosper. I can also remember a killer breakout from the poison ivy infestation we attempted to quash at one of my childhood homes. I grew up with lovely surroundings, and I currently keep a lovely yard, but it is not labor intensive. We planted things 20 years ago when we moved in that have only flourished under our huge trees – vinca, hosta, lily of the valley, turf fescue.

But I digress. Today, in my own yard, these sweet babies were waiting when I came home from an early meeting. These glorious bulbs that my husband and I planted long before our son was in our world were coming to life. Long ago, we got a mixed bulk bag of crocus bulbs from somewhere. Probably the hardware store. And, on a weekend when my grandparents were in town, we planted them. I turned to my Grandma, my mother’s mom, and asked if she had any pointers for planting. “Yes. Plant them deep and where you’d like a little surprise.”

So we did. Some went in the front yard in the grassy part. Some went in a side bed that follows the driveway. They bloom every year and the come up in batches. A synchronized dance. The yellow ones are fearless and have been known to poke up through snow. Deep purple and bright purple will follow within a few weeks and the whole show ends with white. This can last for a month.

I am surprised every time.

p.s. If you desire to read more about my abundant gardening skills, click here.

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