Gardening - Fantasy vs. Reality

Every year, at the first hint of spring, I begin to fantasize that this will be the year that I embrace the joy of gardening. I picture many scenarios, none of which ever seem to come to fruition. Please join me on my journey of a typical gardening season...

A DAY IN APRIL

FANTASY: It's early spring - and the earth experiences its annual re-birth. I joyfully don a jaunty cap and matching jacket and head into the great outdoors to clean up the remnants of winter's destruction. Still too cool to plant, I happily perform the necessary preparatory tasks in order to ready the yard and garden for the extravagant and beauteous display of flowers and vegetables that will soon be reality. Squirrels romp and play around me, the songbirds' arias supply nature's music, and I am just glad to be alive!

REALTY: It's April - it's cold, wet and miserable. I put on my faded Cub's cap and rattiest old jacket and venture out into the mud. My hands blister as I rake up all the smelly old leaves that I hadn't raked last fall. As I toil, the noisy, annoying squirrels run around having fun. Yeah, good for them - they don't have to do yard work - and will those damned blackbirds ever SHUT UP? Please, someone, put me out of my misery now!

A DAY IN MAY

FANTASY: After having meticulously outlined our planting strategy, my husband and I depart for a day of shopping for our gardening needs. We travel the scenic route to a quaint nursery and, on the way back, stop for a romantic lunch at a charming roadside bistro. When we return to our beloved domicile, we joyfully begin planting. The hours fly by as we lovingly place our precious purchases in the rich, sweet earth. The labor is well worth it and our yard is a piece of gardening art. That night, we fall happily exhausted into one another's arms for a peaceful night's slumber, as the crickets' chirps lull us to sleep.

REALITY: I have failed to come up with a gardening plan. My husband tells me that we can shop only if we can fit it in between the baseball game and the golf match televised that day. We go to our local home improvement mega store and encounter hundreds of fellow shoppers, all of whom have screaming kids in tow. Dazed and confused, I grab sickly-looking flowers that I think will be okay (not even beginning to be able to visualize how I will use them) and a few vegetables to plant. We go to the McDonald's drive-thru (time is precious, golf is about to start) and drip tarter sauce all over the car from our Filet-o-Fish sandwiches. At home, I finally locate the old bent trowel and go to work. When I finish, nothing looks right and I am disappointed with my efforts. That night (after repeated requests) my husband reluctantly rubs my aching back with Myoflex and I lie awake listening to his loud snoring.

A DAY IN JUNE

FANTASY: The fragrant flowers delight me as I gather a bouquet in the basket hooked through my arm. My diaphanous summer frock and sunbonnet comprise just the right outfit for this warm, gentle day. The roses on the trellis are as big as a baby's sweet fist and are truly awe-inspiring. I pluck the occasional weed (those little rascals) from the flower and vegetable gardens and marvel as the butterflies flutter by. That evening I relax with my husband, my love, as we sip mint juleps on the patio while listening to the sounds of nature.

REALITY: The flowers are not doing well. I don't know if they've gotten too little water, too little sunlight, too much water, too much sunlight - who the hell knows? I twist my ankle as I wobble off my plastic gardening clog while trying to untangle the hose. The roses are small and serving double duty as an aphid oasis. I kneel in dog poop in my futile attempt to extricate the weeds that are over-taking everything, as I swat at the fog of gnats that surround my head. That night, my husband and I argue over the last beer as the television blares in the background.

A DAY IN JULY

FANTASY: Ahhh..July 4th - the day we celebrate our nation's independence. As I unfurl the last of the decorative bunting, the patio area, with its lush floral display, provides the perfect setting for the soiree we have planned for our friends and neighbors. The children frolic in the wildflower section of the yard and bring handfuls of sweet peas to their beloved mothers. Our lush lawn provides the perfect setting for a game of croquet. The game is momentarily interrupted by a mama bunny and her two little cottontails, who rest by a wicket. My husband gently coaxes the family off the playing area with a carrot he has pulled from the vegetable garden. At dusk, we all enjoy the fireworks display as we take in the varied fragrances emitted by the myriad of blooms that surround us.

REALITY: Oh God, it's the 4th already. I guess I can't back out of the party we agreed to have. I water the patio pots in hopes that the flowers will rebound enough to look alive before people get here. The guests arrive and the kids amuse themselves by placing dandelions from the yard under each other's chins to determine their like or dislike of butter. The dirt section in the back of the yard is perfect for the horseshoe pit. There is a short time-out as the groundhog that lives under the shed makes an appearance. He picks up his skulking gait only slightly as empty PBR cans are hurled at his gigantic rump. The game continues. At dusk, we sit on the prickly, dry lawn and watch as our drunken men-folk nearly rid themselves of digits as they set off illegal fireworks.

A DAY IN AUGUST

FANTASY: Summer is on the wane and I feel nostalgic as I prepare the last of our bountiful harvest of tomatoes for canning. The zucchini bread baking in the oven fills the house with its sweet aroma. Tears swell in my eyes as I collect seeds from the wildflowers to be enjoyed as they blossom so many months from now. What a wonderful season we have had and now it is coming to an end. To console myself, I realize that I have my precious memories and that, of course, summer will come again.

REALITY: The last of the tomatoes are dying on the vines. We didn't have that many to begin with, but I am sick of them. The zucchinis are the approximate size of Shaquille O'Neal's sneakers because I have had it with gardening and I just don't feel like picking them. I take delight as I mow over the barren sticks where the wildflowers should have been. I can't wait for winter and the guilt-free existence that it promises; no overgrown grass, no insect-infested flowers; no under-watered pots. And yet, deep down inside, I know that come spring, the fantasy will begin again.