Wendy Pina

Poinsettia. That's my latest little garden buy. It's the Christmas season so I might as well go festive, right? But I've forgotten to water it and saw some of the flowers have fallen off. I walked out this morning and there they were, lying on the floor where my son promptly picked them up and stuffed them into the watering can. (That's his thing, stuffing random things into other random spaces. Go figure.) 

 

I'm not particularly worried about it, to be honest. There's been a couple cold days and I haven't wanted to spend any more time outside than I have to. And there's been some rain recently so I'm sure that's helped some. I'll water them soon. I think it'll be warm this afternoon actually. 

 

I don't even particularly know how to garden. What I know I've mostly learned from dad. He comes from a long line of gardeners. We went to go visit my grandma and her whole front yard rivals a small nursery. So many different plants and flowers, and each pot uniquely adorned with little ceramics. My son broke one or two while playing with them. 

 

I remember my great-grandma always had plants, too. I don't remember much about her now, but I remember the plants, her birds, and the way we would all line up for her blessing before we left. Now it's my dad who's always showing me around his garden, telling me the names of all his plants and his plans to grow more fruit trees and herbs.  

 

Mine is little. Mostly plants my dad has propagated for me. A rosemary bush that is a little less bush and a little more clump of branches. I've got a few more but I always forget what I've planted until they flower. It's a nice surprise that way. Especially since I've killed them and brought them back to life a couple times. Ask my peace lily: she's been revived more than Beric Dondarrion (please tell me you get that reference).  

 

This recent garden has lasted me a while though. Soon I'll have to start moving them into bigger pots. I've already bought a few—on sale for the most part. I'll wait till it gets a little warmer and then have my son help me. And by help I  mean sit around and play in the dirt. Give him a little watering can so he can make mud.  

 

I've started more gardens than I can count, honestly. Little plants here and there. Not one has survived the times I've been transplanted from place to place. But gardening is in my blood, isn't it? What a shame if my dad had a daughter who didn't raise gardens. I'll have to keep tending to mine. Even if I have to start again and again.