I suffered a disheartening blow when I did my gardening rounds this evening after getting home from visiting my MIL for Mother’s Day. (My own mother is currently celebrating her motherhood sans children in sunny California.) Anyway, my girls looked as though they perpetrated an escape attempt. After recently suffering the indignity of being tied to sticks, who could blame them?
That’s what it looked like, but I’m pretty sure I’m to blame. My peas were planted in window boxes perched precariously on the ledge of our deck railing. I think the afore mentioned sticks provided the necessary lift on this windy spring day to dump the boxes unceremoniously onto the lawn below.
Luckily, I did not witness the carnage personally. The hubs was kind enough to rescue my damsels in distress from their heap and hoist their boxes back on the deck. He was not, however, kind enough to warn me. Unaware of what had transpired, I came upon my girls all twisted and mangled and was absolutely horrified. Their wrists still tied to the offending twigs, that are now broken as well, they looked as though they’d been attacked. On the grass below were puddles of spilt potting soil staining the scene just as surely as pools of blood. Ok, not really, but it was upsetting.
Were I premenstrual right now, I probably would have cried. I can’t believe how attached I’ve gotten to these things. Silverpixels warned me I would be vested and she was right. I, who have made fun of people who spend ridiculous amounts of money on their ailing pets, got all distraught over some disheveled plants. Oh boy, gardening might prove too emotional for me yet.
I don’t know if the girls will recover this insult. Most of the gardening books indicate peas do not tolerate transplanting well and this was surely a similar, if not worse, shock to their systems. I have lots more peas planted throughout my gardens but these were special. They were my one success story while everything else was failing. I’m sorry little darlings. You have become yet another tale of how fragile life can be; especially at the mercy of an inexperienced gardener.
That’s what it looked like, but I’m pretty sure I’m to blame. My peas were planted in window boxes perched precariously on the ledge of our deck railing. I think the afore mentioned sticks provided the necessary lift on this windy spring day to dump the boxes unceremoniously onto the lawn below.
Luckily, I did not witness the carnage personally. The hubs was kind enough to rescue my damsels in distress from their heap and hoist their boxes back on the deck. He was not, however, kind enough to warn me. Unaware of what had transpired, I came upon my girls all twisted and mangled and was absolutely horrified. Their wrists still tied to the offending twigs, that are now broken as well, they looked as though they’d been attacked. On the grass below were puddles of spilt potting soil staining the scene just as surely as pools of blood. Ok, not really, but it was upsetting.
Were I premenstrual right now, I probably would have cried. I can’t believe how attached I’ve gotten to these things. Silverpixels warned me I would be vested and she was right. I, who have made fun of people who spend ridiculous amounts of money on their ailing pets, got all distraught over some disheveled plants. Oh boy, gardening might prove too emotional for me yet.
I don’t know if the girls will recover this insult. Most of the gardening books indicate peas do not tolerate transplanting well and this was surely a similar, if not worse, shock to their systems. I have lots more peas planted throughout my gardens but these were special. They were my one success story while everything else was failing. I’m sorry little darlings. You have become yet another tale of how fragile life can be; especially at the mercy of an inexperienced gardener.
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