I realize we
-- I mean I --
take a more in-your-face approach to selling plants. I can be kind of bossy. Demanding you eat more cilantro. Suggesting you get a milking cow.
I confess, I wouldn't be a good car sales-woman. I don't massage words very well.
I mean, when's the last time you read a blog post that contained more than five swear words?
Moot point if you happen to follow Erika Napoletano or Thug Kitchen.
I admit it's a unique approach. Then again, you're a unique gardener. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, drooling over our big bad plants. But to prove I can write for the faint of heart...that I'm not all swear words, Bud Light bottles and belches. That I actually have a softer side, one that encourages you to garden with your kidlets. And a side that even lends to teaching you something, like landscape design.
...starting to wonder if I have a personality disorder...
Here's a post my grandma would be proud of. One that wouldn't make her blush if I forced her to read out loud. Words that will surely come back to haunt me as I'm exposing the Katie who fantasizes about rainbows and unicorns -- well actually horses. I fantasize about horses all the time.
Cue Grandma...
Life Isn't Always Rainbows & Unicorns (or horses), But Your Garden Can Be
I have very fond memories of gardening with my grandparents. Naturally, the fondness comes years later, after you've forgotten how tedious it was to pluck green beans from their vine. And you've forgotten how hot an Iowa summer can be when you're sheering Christmas trees like a machete warrior.
I'm so grateful for the time I had with them on the farm >>> Thankful they overlooked my tomboyish fashion sense (don't get me wrong, Grandma tried. Mama tried too), fortunate they allowed me to work alongside and successfully keep up with the other farm help (ahem...high school football players. I showed them! Right?), and completely humbled when I realize my grandparents are a big part of who I am today.
...brief pause for a tissue run...
Anyway, you're not here to hear about child labor.
Whenever life sucker punches me...when it completely dismantles my perfect fantasy of the perfect farmhouse, perfect flower garden and the perfect body, I return to my grandparents' farm. I return to the hilltop overlooking what once was their glorious Christmas tree farm. I return to the pond, where we'd put the machetes down for a quick dip.
I return to remember. Remember who I am, who I want to me, and how I'm going to get there.
Bet you'd never guess where I'm at today!
Anyway...
Point being: This is where my rainbow leads me. Like a beacon to a garden full of Black-Eyed Susans, instead of a pot of gold.
To a field full of native grasses that burn red, orange, and yellow in the Fall.
There aren't any unicorns, maybe horses someday. Probably.
Sometimes you've got to create your own rainbows. Your own rays of hope. Pull from your memories, good or bad, and plant your own garden, filled full of flowers blooming all the colors of the rainbow, and dance in it.
Dance in that garden like no one is watching (but you secretly wish they were, cause you're a good dancer).
Laugh more. Laugh at yourself. Laugh at your enemy. Just laugh. Life is funny.
And just...try to just enjoy the ride. Every aspect of the ride. Soak it all in.
Then go tend to your flowers.
Create a space for retrieving when life gets the best of you. A place that will recharge your wild child, then go back to tackle the world. Don't forget to leave flowers wherever you go. Like they're your calling card.
The world needs more flowers.
