I have a confession. It's weighing me down each and every day. I don't think I can live with myself until I get this off my chest....so here it goes....I am a plant killer.
Year after year, I kill countless plants. Doesn't matter what kind. House plants, flowers, outdoor plants...I am a monster. I try to control these urges, but it seems its a matter of destiny. Plants come to me to die. I am the Dr. Kevorkian of the botanical world. Truthfully, I am not sure if I kill them, or I drive them to plant suicide. I neglect them. I am a terrible terrible person.
You would think, as someone named Rose, that I would have all the gardening prowess of some kind of forest nymph. False. I can barely get seeds to sprout, and when I buy pre-grown plants, they inevitably wilt in a sad, mocking fashion. Why? Generally I forget to water them, and when I DO water them, they get over watered and pass out. It's a lose-lose.
Why do I torture myself? I LOVE flowers. Every spring I try to overcome my brown thumb and wind up with the same wilted outcome. It's maddening. This spring I bought several kinds of flowers: Zinnias, Gerbera Daisies, Violas, Snapdragons....so far, I am trying to resurrect the beautiful tulips my aunt gave me for Easter, and trying to keep the rest going. Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's the unforgiving and unrelenting Minnesota climate. And Mother Nature who has had a fucking identity crisis this last month. Hopefully I can keep my deck from looking like a plant cemetery this season. All I want is a 9 foot by 12 foot garden oasis...is that so much to ask??