This morning after carpool drop-off as I drove through my winding suburban neighborhood streets I noticed an annual sighting. Not annual because annual flowers were involved, but annual in that each and every spring since I have lived in this neighborhood, it happens.
The same well -intended neighbor goes hog wild at the nursery at the first promising sight of spring and covers her yard with gallon and half gallon containers of roses, geraniums and petunias – all placed precisely where she intends to plant them. If history serves, these poor plants will begin withering by late tomorrow and continue to yearn for a permanent home or some hydration at least – until their death by early July – when they will be baked to perfection – as crunchy as Lay’s potato chips.
They will then sit, posthumously, for another week or two until a neighbor, or possibly even the well intended would-be future planter of such plantings decides to throw in the towel, admitting that sometimes the best laid plants simply don’t happen.