We moved into our new house a year and a half ago. The flower beds were "builder standard". Loosely translated that means they stick five plants in the ground right up against the side of your house, give you the keys and call it a day. We bought the house in April, a few months before Mississippi summer reared her ugly head. Little did we know that a few months later those poor, unfortunate builder plants would be scorched halfway through. I am not exaggerating. Any branch that touched our house was a goner.
Enter Mom.
And my sweet sister.
And her baby girl.
They came to visit mid-July. Now for those of you auspicious folks who have yet set foot in Mississippi in July, DON'T. Unless your idea of a good time is searing an appendage when you open your car door and being unable to mutter an expletive because the air is too dang thick to breath. If that's your idea of entertainment...by all means, come on down!
Where was I? Oh yes. Mom, Manda and Esther braved the weather because, well I was just too selfish to warn them. Heat advisory, schmeat advisory, they were coming to visit!
Upon arrival, my mom took one look at our plant cemetery of a flower bed and immediately had mercy on the shriveled up remnants.
I'll spare you the details, but the remainder of their visit included 26 bags of mulch, 200 pounds of top soil, a rented tiller, miles of garden edging and enough water hose accessories to douse the Sahara desert.
When they left, our yard was a sight to behold. Have mercy! Our flower beds were tripled in size and number. You'd have thought HGTV had been there. It was the Lazarus of all before and afters!
Fast forward a year or so. The beds are still there. Everything survived the winter.
Then came baby.
And well, I've slacked off a little.
Unfortunately, as the temperature went up, the plants did not follow suite. Weeds started creeping in. And now, we're somewhat lacking in curb appeal. And that's putting it mildly.
So imagine my surprise when we came home one day to find this:
Yes, you saw that correctly.
Epiphany. The reason all my plants keep dying on me must be because I've got them in the wrong place! While troubling myself with resuscitating plants in the bed, I've overlooked the fact that the best soil is in the cracks of the driveway. Man, if only I had known that to begin with, I'm sure my driveway would look like Martha Stewart's garden by now!
I realize there are many spiritual implications regarding this story. But I am just too befuddled to go there.
And if you have made it to the end of this post, bless your heart. You truly are a loyal reader, Mom. :)
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