My only professional job was at a research greenhouse
developing insect-resistant crops for agriculture. I was hired because I had a
degree in biology and chemistry and because I was the only applicant. Also, I may
have left off of my application the insignificant fact that every green thing I
touched died a slow and painful death. My mom gave me a ficus tree for my
college apartment, and when I moved home, I left all of my belongings in the
car to go hang out with friends. That would have been fine if the temperature
had been above freezing, but it wasn’t, and my sweet little tree did not
survive its two hours of winter neglect in my car. Word got around in the plant
kingdom, and I would swear that all my future house plants knew the ficus’ tale
and killed themselves instead of waiting for the measured torture they were
sure to endure.
The worst testament to my cursed brown thumb was following
the death of Brent’s mother. People sent enormous baskets of peace lilies, ivy,
and countless flowers. I never meant to hurt them, but one by one, they all
suffered the same fate as their predecessors. When you’re mourning the loss of
a loved one, the dead plant that was sent as a memorial to the person’s life
really offers little comfort. Now when you come to my home, you will notice
beautiful artificial plants basking in the direct sunlight.
In spite of my record, I excelled at my job in the
greenhouse and succeeded in producing unbelievably lush cotton and tomato
plants. My newfound confidence with growing things led me to believe I could
have a beautiful garden at home as well. I carefully cultivated my beds and
spent a small fortune on baby plants only to have the dog rip them up to chew
on the roots and the toddler bring me tiny green tomatoes off the vine. After 8
years of gardening at home, I collected enough cherry tomatoes for a salad only
once.
Perhaps the next time one of my children bring a sprouting
bean plant home from school, I should go directly to the garden center and purchase
a greenhouse of my own. Apparently that’s the only way I am meant to halt the
curse of the ficus and garden successfully.
I’m very thankful I have the means to purchase healthy vegetables for my
family in lieu of growing them, but more importantly, I’m so thankful that God
grows beauty out of dust everywhere, even in west Texas.
