If I'd known then

what I know now, I'd never have planted those autumn blooming chrysanthemums under a then leafless pussy willow tree in Salt Lake City, Utah because I would have realized by the time they were blooming they'd be in near total shade and would be leggy things hanging waaaaay out over the sidewalk hunting for sun.

If I'd have known years ago how prolific and how productive loquats are at reseeding under their canopy I would have devised a better mulching under those trees as they began to fruit, rather than carelessly allowing a miniforest to sprout.  Four different times.

Fact of the matter is, after years of trying to grow things, we all make mistakes, we all make good choices, and we all have a little luck, good and bad, along the way.  If we are paying any attention at all, we learn as we go along, and at least make new mistakes, rather than repeating old ones.

Occasionally though, a long hard summer drought like last year will knock me backwards in my estimation of myself as a gardener.  Confidence shaken, I begin to personalize the failures, begin to think I have a brown thumb, that I simply can't get things to thrive and produce.

Blogs are sometimes helpful to help me hold perspective, but typically bloggers (and I include myself in this number) tend towards showing their successes, displaying those near perfect blooms in close or narrow shots that only give a glimpse of Nature at her finest.

It can be daunting.

Today however, I went out and noted that not only have the bulbs in the collection I received from Gardening Gone Wild started coming up ("stem side up....root side down" I kept repeating as I sorted and tried to get those various sized knobs at the appropriate depth), but they are showing signs of actually wanting to bloom.

The bluebonnet patch is finally exerting itself in a truly reseeded, densely packed way that is, for once, not the result of my caving, buying and placing actual plants there.

The tomato seeds I stuck into pots, watered and dragged in and out of sunshine and cooler nighttime temperatures have sprouted.  As they should, yes, but I have put seeds carefully and carelessly into play that have not shown any signs of germination.  Entire packets of them (that means YOU, Anthriscus cerefolium!).  


[Now you are wondering if I am aware others have full fledged tomato plants already, in sufficient numbers to generously share with other gardeners?  I am but shhhh- please don't interrupt me while I am gloating posting.  Like a three year old it will only encourage me to start over, breathlessly, at the beginning of my story....]

These signs of success (and yes!  I fully realize bulbs and seeds are supposed to sprout and bloom and this is not some sign of specialness on my or the bulb's or seed's part), have me feeling all warm and well,  cocky at this moment.  Signs of new and returning growth have encouraged me to believe that, in some reasonable sort of climate, with mostly moderate temperatures and acceptable amounts of rain, I too, am totally awesome moderately capable when it comes to gardening.

Let it be said here and now however.  If I eventually end up with actual tomatoes this year, there will be no living with me.

You've been warned.