I guess it was the total disrepair at the Fernbank Gardens that made me decide I should abdicate my title as hillbilly neighbor of the garden world. I have to confess, I HATE GARDENING. I don't find it fulfilling. I don't find it rewarding. I don't get a great sense of peace by creating a lovely garden. I have no great need to work with my hands in the earth.
I just want it to magically look nice all on it's own.
Funny how that doesn't actually work out at all.
When I moved in, the woman who owned the house before me cut the roses by the front steps down into near oblivion. I am guessing she took them with her. I have no green thumb and all I know about roses is what my grandmother taught me - drop coffee grounds and banana peels at their feet and leave them alone. I've done this. I learned from Kirk at work that when I get black spot to pour a beer at their feet and the earth around them - this works, I do this. But there is probably a weeding and pruning part of this that I've been uninvolved in.
You can see that big ass thick whatever TREE thing growing out from under my porch too. I WILL find the chemical to kill you with. I can't cut it, it'll just keep growing.
So now I'm wondering, should I plant a second rose plant next to this? This looks like hell. This is a small space of yuck. Two rose plants? A trellis? They aren't really climbing roses. Or are they and I don't understand roses? UGH I don't know. All I know if that I gave them some banana peels and some coffee grounds and it rained like hell so I hope they show me some life.
In my work, I had to get down on the ground and got an unfortunate look under my porch.
Circle of life.
Now, I have to sort out this gardening shit. Ugh. I wish I was domestic sometimes.