Between growing seasons

growing seasons

It’s almost spring and I thought about my dad this morning.  The last frost will be here before long.  Dad always knew when to plant and transplant.  Between growing seasons.  Early spring, early fall, to prevent the least amount of shock.   Among other things, he was a Botany major.   And while I can identify all kinds of plants and know the difference between trees and shrubs, I can’t grow anything to save my life.   I can kill the healthiest, sturdiest plants, or at least make them very sick.  Not enough water.  Too much water.  Light, no light.  I just don’t know to care for them.  I love them.  I should just probably leave the care to someone else.  But I don’t.  I just keep trying.  Because I want plants in my life.  And I know one day, I’ll get it right.

One of dad’s favorite things to do, was to go to the local nursery and buy up all the dying plants he could find.  I watched him do this.  And the owners would look at him like he was crazy.  But he got a bargain and they got rid of dying plants.  And dad would work his magic and those plants would thrive.   I wish I knew that secret.  I’d trade it for the keen ability to drive backward, any day.

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