I had a college roommate who talked to her plants. Her side of our dorm room was filled with overachieving explosions of green. My side had an ever-revolving range of plants in my two little pots, doomed visitors who would linger bravely for a week or two before wanly accepting their fate.
This wasn’t really a problem over the next four decades. With jobs, kids, and a husband who likes to mow large swaths of lawn, my black thumb couldn’t do too much damage. Then I blew it. I moved to the UK, where gardening is a sacred passion.*
*I’m totally not imagining this. Recent UK census and surveys show that almost 60% of people spent time gardening within the previous month, but only 12% attended religious services.
View original post 686 more words