Plant-heavy days are by far my favorite. I dedicated the bulk of my energy allotment to plant-related tasks, thus making me feel relaxed and happy as I wind down to sleep. This is how I hope to spend the rest of my life, feeling as though I have the freedom and emotional permission to tend to my growing things.
I was running low on indoor potting soil and I needed a large pot to put that new "German queen" tomato in, so I took myself down to Lowe's, unwashed and unkempt, and I didn't care who saw me that way. Two days in a row, walking through garden centers, and I didn't pick up any new plants. This is progress. Okay, maybe I watched a video of the guy who taught me about Rosales nursery in Long Beach, and maybe I sent a screenshot to my daughter, begging her to run down and get me a boobie cactus for 20 bucks, but doesn't that count toward last month's plants, really?
While we were out weeding (Mr S-P, mostly, while I watched and chatted), I saw how big the creeping phlox is now. This is phlox we planted right next to the house, that decided (just like the yarrow) that it didn't like where we put it. The mound of pink flowers abandoned its spot next to the water spigot, and carried itself over to the rocks that are actually in the neighbor's yard. Fine then, grow there. You still belong to me. I don't think they'll cut it down.
I planted the tomato, as well as a sanseveria propagation that took a full year to get worthwhile roots. I refilled my potting soil box, and swept a panful of dirt off the porch and steps. Between hand-watering and running the sprinklers, I think everything is properly soaked. And as we stopped for the day and went out to dinner, we noticed that our first peony is blooming. Several more are on deck for next week. These are the best days.
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