These days, I’m expanding my horizons and have been working with a local company that designs and maintains some lavish gardens. Being a greenhorn means that my green thumb is a very light shade of whitish. Needless to say, my question to answer ratio is drastically unbalanced, but hey, I’m loving the journey.
One of my biggest concerns is mistakenly yanking out a prized flower. A challenge made even harder as most plants haven’t flowered yet.
So, to avoid trouble, I’ve done my level-headed best at recognizing and retaining the appearance of different leaves and seedlings. I’m slowly learning the proper names, but for those that I don’t, I have a “highly specialized” classification system.
A Something: No idea what it is. Yes, there’s something sticking out of the dirt, but I am unable to determine whether it is a weed or a flower. I need to go and ask.
A Thing: Hands off! Still have no idea what the heck it is, but this is a no go for a pull. Yes, I was told what it was, but can’t remember the name.
Not a thing: Grip and pull! It’s either a weed, a nasty intruder, or the owner just wants it gone. I’ve already been given the green light by the experts, but I forget the name.
Yes, okay, now you’ve been given the code, no red pills required if you are captured by the enemy, though I’m not sure who that could be.
Anyways, I thought it might be fun to create a fictional account of how things might go if I was gardening at home and left to my own destruction.
“Doh! What did I just pull out?”
“Dad? Dad! What did you just shove into your pocket?”
“Oh, um, just a few somethings.”
“Oh no! No! No! Those were Mom’s favorites! I can’t believe you did that! Mom! Mo—”
“Shush! Alright it was just a few things, look, they’re not a thing, really.”
“Not a thing? They’re everything! Those were five orchid seedlings!”
“Really? These grassy things? They looked like weeds.”
“Nope! Definitely somethings and more that, they were a thing! Even in your garden speak.”
“But how was I supposed to know? None of them even had petals yet. Please tell me these weren’t those reddish, yellowish, and black, weird shaped—”
“Lady’s Slipper Orchids. Yes, the seeds she pointed out at the garden store, and said that she couldn’t wait to see bloom.”
“Look, can we make a deal or something?”
“Well, what if we say that this was the work of a vole.”
“A vole? Is that a thing?”
“Sheesh, kid! You want to hear my proposal or not? Yes, a vole is a thing. It tunnels underground, and sucks down plants from their root. Just like spaghetti. A pack of them are called Doozers. Oh, and they love radishes, too, so we need to watch out for that.”
“Google . . . what is a vole?”
“Ah sheesh! Should have known you would’ve brought that thing out here.”
“A vole is a small rodent about the size of a mouse that dwells primarily above ground. Voles sometimes use tunnels created by moles to feed on plant structures underground. Voles—”
“Oh, shut that silly thing off, would you? See? Even Google agrees with me.”
“Okay, I’ll go with it. But you do the talking, and maybe you should leave out the ridiculous reference to Fraggle Rock.”
“Huh? How’d you know about that show?”
“YouTube. You’re aware that there are more things on there, than just tutorials on how to repair car thingies.”
“What’s going on you two? You look like you’re up to something.”
“Sucks to be you too. I was gonna’ buy you a thing, but now you’ll get nothing.”