My mission: replace the weed patch in our yard with new hosta donated from Papa's lush garden. I had the shovel. I had the hosta. It was 6:45am. I was ready to go.
I must have been a sight in my front yard, in my pj pants, wielding a pitchfork, tilling the soil. I got more than one surprised comment from a passing student, "My, you are motivated this morning!"
The weeds, though formidable, could not withstand my determination this morning and were swiftly tossed aside. The monster hosta from Papa went in first, followed by four smaller hosta, transplanted from the back side of the house.
Success! The hosta looked fresh, neat and perky in their new locale as I dusted off my hands and headed back in side to wake up my Bears. Its not even 8am!
Not so fast! I check on my prized plantings before dinner at 5pm, only to find them wilted and flat on the ground. AHHHHHH! How could I be related to my father, the ultimate green thumb? My digits only seem capable of bringing the-black-plague-of-death to anything green they touch!
Desperate, I returned with another watering can full of water. Hosta, hardy hosta, un-killable hosta, hosta that survived being dug up by construction workers at my parents house and emerged unscathed from summer hailstorms past: how could you wilt on me?! Why won't you live?!
Maybe they will look better tomorrow?
Happily Ever,
Queen B
2 comments:
This is TOO funny. I have the same experience! Mom had an orchid she only needed to dust (seriously. and it was real. the monkeys pulled at it all the time!). I got one and it was dead within a week. Maybe our dust took over? Let me know if you find a black-thumb cure...
Let me know if you find a cure too....I am not holding my breath ;)
Post a Comment