My husband once told someone that I kill silk flowers. And sadly, he’s right.
I truly admire people who garden. They make the world a brighter place, a happier place. I could sit for hours surrounded by green plants and brilliant blooms…and talk to the person digging in the ground. But ask me to dig and pull weeds and plop a tiny seedling into rich loam? I’d destroy the whole setting in a matter of hours. I can’t tell a weed from a begonia. I don’t know which roots go shallow and which go deep. I can’t differentiate between a creeper and a tall plant that needs support. In short, I’m hopeless in a garden. Please don’t ask me to help in any way.
When my mom, aunt, and I went to England and Scotland several years ago, I was astounded by the yards, first in Edinburgh and then throughout the rest of our trip. Front yard might measure 10×12—not much compared to a lot of American yards. But every inch, save the walkway, was chock full of plants. The roses were spectacular, and every yard had some variety. I 
made the comment to my mom and aunt that I wondered how one particular yard had such beautiful, big blooms, and a woman I hadn’t seen standing there said, “It takes a lot of work.” I imagine so!
But it would take me no time to wipe it all out—and I wouldn’t even try. Without touching anything, I went on my way.
Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.
Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!