No Green Thumb Here

                                              By

                                      Lucille Joyner

          Once upon a time, I lived in a town that gave awards to residents and businesses that maintained, improved, and beautified their properties. Out of curiosity, I attended one of their ceremonies and every person who was called forward, regardless of age or stage received a plaque and an individual congratulation and handshake by the Mayor. They beamed with pride, and I was jealous. I wanted to go right home and beautify my land so I could have an award, too.

            After that, I received a brochure from a plant company and on the cover was a picture of the most beautiful roses I had ever seen. I stared at the perfect flowers and thought, Why can’t I have that on my property? I sent for them and then forgot all about it.

            One day a box arrived. I didn’t recognize the return address, but I tore it open with great curiosity. It contained gnarly black things that I think I’ve seen on Twilight Zone or Outer Limits. They looked like evil creatures that were dropped by UFOs into the black lagoon where they reproduced, then retrieved and sent out to select homes to hypnotize and capture earth people. My name was obviously on their list.

 I was so afraid of the contents that I threw the box toward the back door. Then, in sheer terror, I pushed open the door and shoved the box out with a broomstick and locked the door behind it. I avoided going in the backyard after that.

            A few days later, a friend came by and said, “What are those rose bushes doing strewn about out back?”

            “Rose bushes?” I looked out the back door. “Those are rose bushes?” In my ignorance, I thought the plant company was going to send me rose bushes that looked like the picture. I didn’t know they would send gnarly roots that needed to be put in the ground. 

            Not that I didn’t trust my friend, but I just couldn’t touch these ominous-looking things, so she planted all six of them. Once out-of-sight underground, I was able to take care of them. They were just beginning to come up when along came Dudley, my son’s dog. He lifted his leg on every plant, and in time, stunted their growth and they all died. I was not happy to lose these bushes on my very first attempt at gardening. I didn’t speak to Dudley for a long time after that.

            Then one day a friend of mine gave me an amaryllis plant. Despite my tragic experience with the rose bushes, I was still harboring a secret desire to grow something, anything. So I took the fuzzy bulb and stuck it in potting soil as she directed. I kept the pot on my counter where I could nurture it.

In no time at all, bright green blades shot out of the rich soil and grew, it seemed, a few inches a day. I was deliriously happy. In the center of these blades, a rigid shoot appeared with what looked like praying hands on the end. When it was two feet high the praying hands split into two pods. Then each pod split into two more pods. I started to feel like a veteran gardener.

As these pods began to open, a pink fringe peeked through and I could hardly contain my joy. One morning, at the height of my enthusiasm, I awoke, entered the kitchen, and found the pods lying on the floor. I was gravely distressed. What could have happened? They were doing so well.

It turned out that my cats were jealous of my attention to the plant, and they slapped the pods right out of existence. The stalk stood there in the middle of the plant like a headless giraffe, waiting to die. It did, and with it, my interest in gardening.

            So my hat’s off to those stalwart gardeners with their bright green thumb who can win the battle over pets, insects, and weather conditions, and go on to win their well-deserved prize. As for me, my lot is to thumb through gardening catalogs and enjoy the pictures.