So this summer, I had decided to grow food. It was going to be amazing–we’d plant a small balcony garden and we’d grow fresh peas, some herbs, some peppers…
“Why not just plant flowers?” Mr. Johns asked. “I like flowers on a balcony.”
But no! I had IDEALS, people! I was going to show my child where the food on his plate came from, show him those beautiful life lessons that country kids glean from the simple experience of watching a seed grow. My town raised child would not miss out on those simple pleasures. He would eat the very peas we grew… standing in the dewy morning coolness of a morning… on the balcony.
We were going to grow FOOD, blast it! And then we were going to eat it. It was going to be amazing.
Well, one by one, my planters failed me. As it turns out, there’s a reason why people tend to grow their vegetables in an actual garden and not in small pots on their porch. My peas were looking decidedly anemic, despite all their direct sunlight, plant food and doting love they received.
So I tore them out and put in some flowers. The flowers look equally anemic right now, having spent their entire existence from seed to wilting plant in the Plant Center outside the grocery store. But I have high hopes that they’ll perk up.
Flowers know how to live in pots. Peas, apparently, do not. Mr. Johns was right, but sweet guy that he is, he tends to just go along with my schemes until he is proven right in the end.
Me: That’s it! I’m going to take out the peas and put in flowers. The magazines and inspiring internet memes were wrong.
Mr. Johns: And…?
Me: You were right.
Mr. Johns: Amen!
Me: Mr. Johns, this is not church. *scowl*
Mr. Johns: *grins*