I'm sorry for mentioning the jack-hammer. But it's hard to dismiss.
I haven't made a vodka tincture of the mimosa. I wish I could remember what made me think of buying vodka at all. It was definitely for some kind of a homemade tincture, but the inspiration escapes me. And I don't think I even like vodka. It makes me think I am sipping a cool glass of medical lab work.
Sorry about that. Not a pleasant image, and maybe you like vodka. Sorry.
What the heck kind of mood am I in, anyway?
Okay. Enough with the toxic plants, two headed calves, and jack-hammers.
A Pie Pumpkin, brought home last October, escaped notice all through the holidays. Somehow, it slipped quietly away from the entry display for Halloween. It sat, small, unnoticed through Thanksgiving. Sometime between Christmas and Ground Hog Day it moved under the guest bed, and fell sound asleep. Then came Spring, and all the stirrings to freshen home and garden... boxes to the attic, rubbish to the bin, raking, sweeping, and sorting, and that's when we spied Pie Pumpkin, again. At last, the little orange orb, still firm and bright, would fulfill a marvelous destiny. Pie Pumpkin is coming full circle, and the garden is full of her descendants; bright, firm orbs that are just beginning to speckle orange.
I could grow. I could become an indoor plant lady, but I can't deny my nature, my easily distracted, forgetful tendencies, the terrible track record I have. But. I could try harder, I suppose. If I weren't so prone to lapses in effort, absent-minded spells when everyone had better know how to fend for themselves, lawn and fruit trees included, then I would be in a lush greenhouse home. Soothing, flourishing, with maybe an indoor fountain, something tiled, and trickling gently, surrounded by verdant specimens, trailing leaves, maybe birds, too. I satisfy these daydreams by following real Gardeners, capital G Gardeners, like Black Girls Gardening, and Gardeners that bother with things like soil ph, fertilizing, pruning, like Hilton Carter, creator of green interiors. I meditate on the pictures of greenhouse specimens from Barrels & Branches.
God. I hope I don't kill this little orchid.