Rowdeezy, Rowdeezy, Quite Contreezy; How Does Your Garden Grow?

If you were to ask most who know me, they wouldn’t likely equate Rowdeezy with the outdoors, great or otherwise. Although I am mostly happy with my City Girl sensibility, I felt there was more I was missing out on. Something that challenged me and perhaps even scared me a little. (See Half Dome adventure from last September). I have, in fact, spent the last few years of my life trying to break out from behind the High Maintenance, Martini-Weilding, Stiletto Heel-wearing, I-Don’t-Like-Dirt mold with varying degrees of success.

With the advent of my new(ish) home, I have been challenged in yet another dirt-related arena. Gardening. *gasp*!! *the horror*!! Don’t I have enough to contend with in this busy world of ours? In between the dusting, the DIY projects that lay unattended in the corner, piles of laundry to be folded, unread books, belated birthday gifts still to be wrapped, I now also have to water, prune, and plant?

And let me tell you ladies and gents(and the rest of you too), remembering to water is the easiest part. Moving in this past January, my front yard was in such a state that a major clearcutting was in order and, quite frankly, this seemed an overwhelming endeavor. But D has been my Gardening Angel and with his patience, guidance, and overall love of flora, I have been nudged out into the greenery. His prescient birthday gift of pink gardening boots also helped. (Afterall, let’s not loose focus. It’s still important to look cute!). He has taught me about the insidious nature of yellow oxalis and jasmine. And lo! While rooting around in one of the terraced beds, I have gone head to head with my Arch Nemesis: the dreaded Blackberry.

Slowly, as you may have noticed, new words have slipped into my vocabulary, I own tools I never thought would be in my possession. I have discovered the joys of seeing my Celosia and Alyssum bloom and thrive and offer up their vibrant colors to my home. I have felt the rush of victory as I yanked a sonofabitch Blackberry root from the ground.

But lest you mistake me for a complete garden convert of the Green Thumb variety; I still squeal at the site of anything slimy in the dirt. I still worry about my manicure if I forget my pink gardening gloves. I still can't differentiate between annuals and perennials. But I’m learning everyday how my plants and flowers calm me. I'm learning how my flowering begonias can make me sigh with satisfaction as much as my Richard Tyler slingbacks. How the smell of cocoa mulch can now so quickly say "welcome home". And though it will never be the Gardens of Versailles, it is mine, sprung from toil and achy muscles. It is mine, sprung from necessity and newfound wonder.