My father is a talented and prolific gardener. So, when it comes to my own gardening dreams, I've got big shoes to fill. Over the years, I have tentatively tried to find my way in the gardening world. I’d be walking into Target, and flowering treasures would beckon me, whispering, “Look! I’m (insert favorite color of the moment here)! Don’t worry, you won’t ruin me! I won’t let you down, and I’m only $3.50!” I’d give in, and three weeks later, one of two situations had inevitably occurred. Scenario #1: the plant was dried up and crusty (Each morning, as I rushed to work, I had thought “Shoot! Oh, well, I’ll water it when I get home,” which rarely actually happened). Scenario #2: The plant was yellowed and droopy, a victim of my over-attentive response to the guilt from the last plant that fell prey to Scenario #1. So, I gradually concluded that I didn’t have what it takes to be a real gardener. I continued to try, and there were even a couple of hardy plants that managed to survive my alternating neglect and suffocating attention. Now that I think of it, none of my impulse buys were among the survivors. These were those plants gifted to me by knowing relatives, who must have chosen plants known for their high tolerance for bad gardeners. But, I digress. Fast forward to Fall 2010, when I moved into an apartment with an unbelievable back porch. Before even moving in, I stood gazing across the space that spanned all six tenant garages beneath. “What a perfect spot for a rooftop vegetable garden,” I fantasized. My more sane side said, “You have to keep some other plants alive before you take on a project that big.” So, I spent the “after summer” and “pre-spring” (known in other parts of the country as “fall” and “winter”) persevering through the dried/crusty and yellowed/droopy phases of gardening. And guess what? I found a happy medium, with only a 20% death rate to show for it. So, in February (also known as “almost spring” here in Long Beach), I went for it. I bought a raised garden kit and set out to create my dream garden.
Next time, my manic episode of garden planning.
