Mama always tells me I have a green thumb. Her plants would die one after the other during Oklahoma summers, but mine would thrive. They would just grow and grow... so she decided I had a green thumb and that I was good at growing things. And I believed her, like a dummy.
Fast forward to college when I killed my birth plant. My mother was given an ivy the day I was born (that's why it's my "birth plant"). I'd managed to keep it alive for 21 years and then it just died, one leaf at a time withered away until it was nothing but a brown stalk. I had no idea why this had happened. I'd left it in my dorm room for just one week, healthy as ever. When I returned it started to die. This was the beginning of the end.
Since then I haven't been able to keep any plant alive longer than a season. I've killed more green babies than I'd care to mention. And I don't understand why. Why have I failed my mother's prophecy? When did my green thumb turn black? Perhaps it's a family curse. Maybe once we reach a certain age, Shute women can no longer cultivate life from soil.
But, but but – California is supposed to be one of the best places to grow plants because the weather is always perfect.
It's been ridiculously hot this summer. We're in a drought that becomes more serious by the hour. I'd love to have an herb garden, but I can't even manage to keep basil alive. Of the six plants I bought when we moved into our new apartment in April, only the succulent remains. That's the only plant that could weather the blazing San Fernando Valley heat.
So my options at this point are either to resign myself to a garden of cacti, or to fight the odds and (possibly) continue to murder plantlife. It's my dream to start an herb garden that my neighbors could borrow from. An herb garden would be so beneficial. I even wrote an article about how simple herbs are to grow (hehe).
Maybe the herb garden could be my last hurrah before I buy a bunch of spiky plants and call it a day. I'll let you know how it goes.