I have never claimed to have a green thumb. Or even a green-ish thumb. I have a brown thumb at best. I take a "Darwinian" approach to gardening: if you can't survive on your own, you don't belong in my yard.
And yet I love to garden!
I love choosing plants at the greenhouse every spring, even though I have no idea what goes where or with what. I buy things that look pretty and have lots of leaves. I love getting dirty, and weeding.
I love getting excited when something starts to bloom - even if I don't know what it is - or when I see those first tiny tomatoes show up.
And if things die, or get trampled on by the lovely handymen building me a new fence, whatevs. I enjoyed them while they lasted, and something new will go in their place next year. No big deal.
The only thing I hate is getting that damn hose out from around the side of the building, adding in my other hose because the first one isn't long enough and watering the stupid grass in my yard. I hate grass.
But actually, I don't even really hate that.
I love it all.
This was a big ol' Garden Love Fest post, now wasn't it.