My own knowledge of gardening does not run deep. It goes something like this: That is a yellow flower. This is a red flower. And the one over there? Why, it's an orange flower with black specs in the petals. Lovely, those petals, aren't they?
So in a quest to improve myself, I embarked on a horticultural journey.
It began in late March as the snows were receding. I began to clear that little patch of evergreens in front of the house. The job required a certain type of tool, so I called upon the sharp-teeth of my Swedish Sandvik Force 24-inch bow saw.
I don't know what kind of trees they have in Sweden, but the blade on one of those things goes through a local stump like a hot knife through butter. Down, down went the bushes one after another.
So slick was the Sandvik that I found myself striding around the property looking for more dead bush and branches. The bush that would sprout those little yellow flowers in spring? Gone. The one that had the purple blossoms in summer? Hacked.
I cut them because I thought they were dead. I was later informed by He Who Can't be Named that, barring evergreens, everything looks dead in March. Hmmm. It was probably just as well that he confiscated my Sandvik and hid it in the basement.
Now I had my empty flowerbed, but what to plant? Rhododendrons, advised one gardening guru. So when the time came, I nipped over to the annual Rhododendron Society sale and found at least thirty people line ahead of me. Other Rhododendron dolts like me, I assumed.
Ha! How wrong I was. This was a crack commando squad of gardeners, Special Forces parachuted in to storm the gardening gates, Green Berets of rhododendron fanciers. Trust me. What this crowd didn't know about rhodos wasn't worth knowing.
And there I was, the noxious weed amongst the blossoms, not knowing a rhododendron from the back end of a pick-up truck.
When the gates opened, it was rhododendron pandemonium. The commandos shot off in every direction and plucked up choice rhodos, perennials, conifers and azaleas. I stood in the middle of it all, lost and too embarrassed to ask the question I most needed to ask: "So, what does a rhododendron look like, anyway?"
When I realized I was missing the boat, I waded in, grabbed the first two plants I could get my hands on, paid and got out. When I got them home, their tags revealed that I had two rhodos, a Patty Bee and a New Patriot (not part of the US missile defence system.)
Then, as if to mock me, their pretty blossoms promptly slumped over and fell off. I was gutted, but my gardening guru said not to worry; plant sales are stressful for rhodos, too. So I planted my defrocked rhodos.
Now I had to fill the rest of the garden, but with what? Impatiens, implored my guru. So off I skipped to the nearest garden centre to buy some. The impatiens were pretty when planted, but the gaps between them loomed large.
After a second trip to the garden centre, there were still more holes than flowers. This bugged me so I bought and planted again. A third planting helped but the holes persisted. My garden needed more plants, more blossoms, more colour.
Now, it was obsession. I had to fill those gaps. So, like a crazed military commander launching a rearguard action, I threw caution to the wind, called up the heavy artillery and carpet bombed the thing with impatiens.
I know what you're thinking. Impatient with the impatiens. Tut tut. But decisions had to be made, and once I started knocking out those holes, it was like a drug. I couldn't stop. Plant. Plant. Plant. More. More. More. I love the smell of bone meal in the morning!
The garden looks great now. The rhodos are thriving and the impatiens, bless them; they're exploding with colour. I don't call myself a real gardener - an enthusiastic planter, perhaps - but I think I've achieved the first step. Now I can't pass a garden centre without stopping in for a look.
You know who I am and where I live so I leave you with this. Asked to use the word horticulture in a sentence, American wit Dorothy Parker said: "You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think."
