What color is your thumb?

"Go green." they said.

"Build a garden." they said.

"Grow your own vegetables." they said.

So I did.

Or at least I thought I did.

We went to the best local plant place. We got the best dirt, the best organic additives, we took time with our how we planned the growth of each separate plant bed. We got the hardiest strains and planted them at the exact weekend that the experts suggested.

It shoulda been vegetable heaven over here.

But it wasn't.

Boy wasn't it.

Our beds weren't deep enough, the dirt beneath them more rock than anything elseAnd they all were just sort of unwilling to grow.

And then or course was the heat.


I'm not sure what it is about our backyard, but it's easily ten degrees hotter than our asphalt driveway.

They say summer plants need a full day of direct sun.

But they didn't account for how close to the sun our backyard is.

They say not to over water.

Cause there's . . like . . .you know . . . a drought.

But if I didn't shed gallons a day upon them, they wilted as if being touched by a fairy tale step-mother.

So now, after six months, I am planning on pulling the whole thing out and getting ready for the winter stuff.

But it makes me sad.

After six months of watering, tending, weeding, planning, planting, un-planting, and replanting, I've grown just enough for a single salad, one really awesome pesto dish, and some peppers.

That's it.

My garden this year may have produced about $6.98 worth of groceries.

I did get one very excellent tomato.

I sliced it super thin and ate it with a little olive oil and sea salt on top of a nice garden salad.

Not my garden salad, Trader Joes' garden salad.

But I must admit, it was excellent.

Totally worth it.

I hope we get some rain this year.

Like rain rain rain rain rain.

For days . . . possibly weeks.

I would like to take at least one more stab at seeing how green I can get my thumb. And . . . if it turns out that I just can't grow things . . . well at least I can uncheck one of those things I can do for a living when I grow up.

If I can kill plants at will, then maybe I should try my hand at becoming a fairy tale step mother, or an orthodontist.

Maybe my particular gift is the ability to render things infertile on contact.

Wish I'd known that in college.

Good to know for when the Zombies come too.

Best not let me till the field. Unless you could learn to live a full year off of a very excellent thinly sliced tomato.

Cause if you can . . . look me up.

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