While others may tenderly place their plants in nutrient-rich soil, then nurture and coo at them, my style of plant care can best be described as survival of the fittest.
One coworker gave each of us a flowering plant again this year. It was a thoughtful gift -- although not thoughtful as far as the plant was concerned. I could almost hear the poor blighter scream as it neared my desk, sensing the souls of plants past, once green and lush, now perished from too much/too little watering, overexposure to light or work-related stress.
There are those who may not be great with houseplants but are a whiz with their gardens.
Alas, these skills have passed me by, too. Only the hardiest of plants have survived over the years: the ones that conquered the weaker varieties -- the chokers, the insidious vines, the creepers. Bullies and badasses hold the keys to the kingdom that is my yard.
Yes, I have tried to cull the herd. I hack and chop and bludgeon. But still they rise again. And the little, pretty ones, blocked from the sun and unable to cope, simply stop appearing. Until one day, I think, "There used to be a tulip here. And wild strawberries over there. Hmm."
I have this dream. It's to cultivate an herb garden. I will grow thyme and lavender and all sorts of exotic varieties. I will plant them where no animals can pilfer them and where my predatory plants can't get at them.
Sigh.
We all know better, don't we? While I love flowers and trees and green things, I just need to step away and rely on the talents of others. Or visit the MetroParks, where Mother Nature has created her own soul-stirring works of art.
To be honest, I think the plant kingdom is cool with that.
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