A Bloomin’ St. Patrick’s Day

Another weekend, another hole in the garden.

It’s official. I’ve been domesticated. I’m not sure how or why, although I imagine it’s at least a little biological, but I’ve become a weekend garden warrior. Last night I was out having a green drink and listening to live music with the rest of them, but this morning I hopped right out of bed, threw on my grubby jeans, and headed for the backyard.

It’s part of my routine now. In between reading the paper, writing about Jason Mraz: The Man, The Music, The Prophet,  and cooking a hearty, healthy weekend meal, I weed. I also dig, I spread manure, I stick things in the ground, I water, and at the end of the day I look up new flowers in my gardening books.

Our own Jason Mraz is pro-garden. But then, is anyone really anti-garden? Maybe people with really atrocious allergies. As for Mraz’s floral feelings, I’ve based my decision on the lyrics from Warming Up (to Lovin’ Me):

There’s a cool breeze blowing in a garden grove
Where a lady, she learns to sleep
While surrounded, not where all the flowers grow
Otherwise on an empty orchard street

I think one reason for my new gardening obsession is that Spring is here and the weather is begging me to get outside and grab some sun. Then there’s the messy factor, I like getting my hands dirty. And in the end you have something beautiful or maybe even tasty. I’ve taken one little patch of yard and made it my own, used my creativity to design and grow it and make it better than it was before.

If you’ve never planted anything before, start small, maybe a tomato plant or a few daisies. If you’re apartment-bound, an african violet might be a good way to go. Pick something though, care for it, nurture it, water and feed it, name it Hector, watch it change and grow. And then go back to work on Monday.

Working class menagerie,


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