I have had a lot of gardens in my lifetime.
They started out small because of lack of space (ie: I couldn’t afford any space).
“I think that window ledge looks like it could hold a crop of corn. Oops. Sorry Mister. There’s a farm growing up here. Better not walk under there in the future.”
They got larger, and multiplied, and became more ambitious (again: the pocketbook issue),
“I know. I know. It is important how many bedrooms a house has, and walls should ideally be insulated, but I’ve looked at the comps, and having all the kids bunk together for warmth until they’re 18, seems like a reasonable trade-off for the land, don’t ‘ya think?”
One of our last gardens was actually ‘several’ gardens on a three acre property- a veggie, a shade, a wild flower, an English, a cutting, a hillside, etc.,
“Oh no. There are trucks here again. Kids! Where’s your mother? beepbeepbeep Holy Shit! That’s my Fiat! Where is she?!”
I was solidly in my glory (la de da de da I’ll be in the garden and will not be available la de da).
My sister has joked for years that she could never have me as her ‘power of attorney’, exercising her end-of-life decisions, because I’d just pull the plug if it interfered with a plant sale (not true- mostly),
“There is hope. A new drug can be administered by weeks- end and cure her.”
“But it’s Garden Plantarama on Friday doctor. P-L-A-N-T-A-R-A-M-A!”
My children have learned that when they call, if their father tells them I’m in the garden, they just ask for a call back,
“Never mind. I’ll just talk to her when she’s dead and buried. Next to the roses. Those damn roses.”
Ben doesn’t even blink an eye, anymore, if I tell him I can’t make a corporate function because bushes need to be transplanted,
“The old ‘hole digging’ line again- eeh Cheryl?”
My doctor begs me to hire people to do the heavy lifting.
Our cats just give up hope of a dinner bowl if they see me knee deep in mulch.
You get the picture.
But gardening stills my restless nature (I’m restless. Isn’t that cute?), gives me hope for the future (so their saying smoking three packs a day is bad for you?), provides the opportunity to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile (’cause I usually don’t) and lets me be alone with myself (this one actually Rocks).
Which is a good thing ’cause the celery is about the only thing left talking to me…
But that’s just fine…
in the center of Asian-type celery stalk tops.