Sparks Prompt #21 — Green or black thumb?

My Chartreuse Thumb

A gardening essay

I remember the previous owner of my townhome telling me, “The HOA’s responsible for all landscaping, except the small area around the patio. But, their gardeners are atrocious and mostly only mow and blow. They have no idea how to trim and never plant anything, not even to replace dead landscaping. I do my own gardening in the back and the front and in common areas by the lake.”

I told her I wasn’t much of a gardener and doubted I’d continue her efforts to have the best landscaping in the townhome community.

For almost thirteen years, we lived in a rental home that had been leased property since the 60s. There were a few bushes under windows in the front and some Mexican Petunias growing in a planter on the small front stoop. You can’t kill those things. But, the backyard was “dead” — the soil stripped of any nutrients but the few that sustained weeds. It was, essentially, a large sandbox.

I had a few potted plants which I hung from the branches of two trees in the front yard and put on a café table next to lawn chairs.

Before renting in town, I lived on three acres in the country; land that my then-husband and I cleared for the home we would build. I did a lot of gardening the first two years we were in our new home, mostly establishing some landscaping in the front. We even had a vegetable garden that only succeeded in producing truckloads of summer and zucchini squash — our last attempt at growing food, although my husband successfully planted Muscadine grapevines.

Two years of deep freezes killed many of my flowers and bushes. I didn’t bother to replant. Enough remained to give some curb appeal to a house on a dirt road that had no curbs.

So, I had no intention of gardening in our new place. But, I did. I’ve added, changed, and rearranged the landscaping in the back and in the “HOA-controlled” front. I have Do Not Trim Here signs to discourage the landscapers who trim with chainsaws. After my screaming fit two years ago, when they leveled my Blanket Daisies, the pseudo-gardeners avoid me and my garden areas.

I don’t bother with houseplants; I have enough blooming going on outside.

Also, our home is deep and narrow with no direct sunlight, which saves us big bucks on air-conditioning and heating but isn’t a welcome environment for plants. I have one tender shade-loving potted plant that sits in a kitchen window during the winter. But, that’s it.

The absence of houseplants doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. From our entire living area and primary bedroom, we can look through patio doors to the back gardens and an abundance of greenery leading to our lake.

The first year here, I only tried to keep Kathy’s plants alive and added a few potted flowers and ferns on the patio.

At the time, my daughter and grandchildren were here. I picked the children up from school Friday afternoon and kept them until Sunday morning. We were busy with soccer games, birthday parties, and school projects. No time existed for this grandma to garden.

Then, they moved.

Suddenly, I had more time than I wanted. Lots and lots of empty time. I turned to gardening to fill it up, to give me purpose, to help me figure out who I was when I wasn’t grandmothering.

It worked.

And, my gardening therapy led to the creation of my Weeds & Wildflowers publication here on Medium. Five years ago, if you told me I’d be gardening and writing about it, I’d have laughed hysterically. Me, gardening, no way!

And, as is often the case, one thing led to another. Soon, I was taking long walks and photographing the amazingly wild habitat that surrounds me, appreciating that I live in a city that has more greenery than the rural area that was my home for more than 20 years.

Do I have a green thumb? No, definitely not. I kill a lot of plants.

But, more survive than die.

I’d say I have a chartreuse thumb and that’s good enough.

© Dennett 2022

In response to this Sparks prompt by Ellie Jacobson: