the ocean

I have a bit of a love hate relationship with plants, in that I love them and they hate me. Traditionally, I have struggled to keep them alive. Even the succulent my office gave us as one of many misguided attempts to lure us away from working from home appears unwell, despite the express assurances we were given that they require almost no attention. I did once keep bamboo alive for several years, since it is literally impossible to overwater, but then it got spider mites and some sort of mold and had to be put out of its misery. My grandmother's Christmas cactus has managed to survive, but Ian basically handles that. 

So every year when my mother and I head out to buy plants for the container garden on our front patio, I know it's going to be a mixed bag. We've had some successes, like the lavender that came out of nowhere and flourished for no reason, but also failures like the foxglove that we did not realize was poisonous to dogs. (No one died, but it was an interesting digestive journey.) Also, there are a surprising number of ways to argue over plants. 

But this year I think we got everything in without major incident, and we'll see how they do. I would catalogue for you the various varieties we incorporated, but I have no idea what they are, although they do look nice. I accidentally sprayed potting soil in my face and put on a pretty decent layer of sweat in the process, but frankly that's a better outcome than expected. I just love nature, what can I tell you?