I've killed every plant I've ever tried to grow. Ever. Every one. From seeds that never sprout to seedlings that mold to shade plants that are forgotten out in the blanching sun until Death comes for their withered stalks, no plant has ever survived my tender loving care.
In college, I had my first little potted plant, a gift from a friend who teased me about my black thumb o' Death. It died within weeks. Lettuce and spinach seeds planted last summer never sprouted. Prized tomato seedlings given to me by a student were left behind as I moved homes. Their ending is yet unknown to me. Somehow I doubt that they've taken over the old place after being forgotten on the concrete steps in full sun. In truth, I can't even keep those Amish starter bread packages alive. Even yeast is no match for my brutal plant ignorance.
Adults, however, landscape. They grow roses, don't they? And sod? It seems that, as a prospective homebuyer and nearly adult, I too should learn the ways of plants.
My Nate, by contrast, can grow anything he would like, yet it seems to cruel to stand indoors as he fights off Minnesota-sized mosquitoes and swarms of gnats. He even knows how to start, run, and maintain the lawnmower. I view the lawnmower as some sort of steampunk dragonbeast, bent on eating my toes, killing me with its noxious fumes, and generally causing wreck and ruin in its surrounding areas. Noisily. Adults, however, landscape. They grow roses, don't they? And sod? And perennials? Whatever those are. It seems that, as a prospective homebuyer and nearly-adult, I too should learn the ways of plants.
Reading The Urban Homesteader has broken down a lot of the mysteries and myths about the contemporary garden. It isn't as detailed or even as various as St. Paul Media's publications on gardening and pest control, but it has some great ideas. Most importantly, it has information on composting. Compost tea? I now know that it isn't some strange, disgusting hippie drink. In fact, it's something I can do: shovel dead plants into a bucket of water to create a sort of plant food/soup/nutrient goo? That can't be killed; it's already dead. Perhaps my future is not in the landscaping and growing of plants but in the development of compost. Dead and decaying things? Those I can handle. Compost cannot be killed, really, but simply made toxic–which is a risk I'm willing to take.
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