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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 19, 2000
But this time, I found myself helplessly drawn toward the pansies and the marigolds—the bright reliable bloomers, the summer annuals that keep every garden center across the country in business, two dollars at a time. I had never wanted them before, but now I had the problem that they were designed to solve. I had empty space, a need for blooming color, and they would step in and do the job on a moment’s notice. I looked around to make sure I was safely out of sight of the organic vegetable gardeners in the back. I didn’t want them to see me loading my cart with ordinary old pansies or, worse, petunias.
Because of course, that’s exactly what I did. In fact, I went a little crazy, filling up my cart with colorful annuals. They were like gardening candy, hard to resist once I got started. I bought impatiens and violas, blooming ground covers, and—I am most ashamed of this—a dozen or so flowering, one-gallon annuals like pincushion flowers and cosmos. Never in a million years did I think I’d stoop low enough to pay five dollars for something that grows so easily from seed, something that is practically a weed. I felt a little embarrassed about it. But they looked good, maybe too good for something that was supposed to have grown up in my garden. I worried that I’d given in to the gardening equivalent of a padded bra—not really mine, but for just a few dollars, I could claim they were, and no one would know the difference.
When I got home, I put my plants in the ground quickly, scarcely bothering to prepare the earth or even think about where they might grow best. I seemed to be reverting to my old habits. I needed results, and I needed them quickly. I wasn’t very concerned about the long term. They could all shrivel up and die, as far as I cared, right after Annette’s visit was over. They were stand-ins, temporary workers. They’d do their job and then I’d let them go.
The annuals took their place among my other plants, which all looked a little drab in comparison. I went inside and rooted around until I found an old bottle of that awful synthetic blue fertilizer I used to feed my houseplants. Would the garden mind if I gave it a few shots of nonorganic food? I didn’t think it could hurt anything, but I felt a little guilty as I sprayed it on, wondering if I was a bad mother for feeding my garden junk food after I had worked so hard to raise it on a healthy, well-balanced diet.
The garden didn’t look any better. The pansies and the petunias looked stupid, false, out of place. They made my tender young garden look like it was wearing too much makeup. I wasn’t at all sure that my hasty improvements had done any good at all. What was I thinking, planting ridiculous little pansies and sprinkling chemical fertilizers on them? Had I lost my mind?