I’ve had a pinch in my back and thought I just slept on it wrong, but when I took those photos of my gloves—precariously balanced with one foot on the chaise lounge, the other foot on the edge of a pot, and straddling the tripod to get my eye somewhere near the viewfinder—the familiar pain shot though my back, and I realized that I’d sustained a blogging injury.
I contort myself into all sorts of unnatural positions to take those macro photos so you think my garden looks lovely—which it does not. Yes, a branch or bloom here and there occasionally looks spectacular, but I only have about six inches of play to not reveal how pitiful things really look. It’s one thing to write a blog called The Sorry Gardener and quite another to take a wide shot of the yard with the caption: See? I’m not joking.
In addition to physical pain and suffering, blogging about my sorry gardening ways has also caused me mental distress. What the hell was I thinking when I got a blog rolling in May—the very month that I need to spend every spare minute working in the garden and now every other spare minute blogging about it?
And now I have the added pressure of you compassionate readers wondering if I’m going to kill the black tomatoes and the butterfly bush sprout. I’m not telling you people anything any more. And I will keep those tomato plants alive if I have to lie down in the garden bed and give them mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Many of you drop by every day, so I want to have things in order when you show up, just as I would if you visited my house … my house that’s a wreck because I’m always writing the next post or taking photos for the next post or replying to comments from the old posts—you know, building a blog.
The other day, while I was writing with furrowed brow, Mr. Sorry was making annoying household noises in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Laundry and dishes. Do you realize you slept in those muddy shorts last night? And the only clean fork in the house is this tiny one for gherkins.”
I typed faster. “Yeah, but nobody who reads the blog knows that. Can’t you just use a spoon?”
When I stopped by the True Value to pick up the plants for my porch pots, there was a new shipment of tomatoes. One of the friendly nursery ladies said, “You know, growing tomatoes here is a challenge.” I smiled, thinking of my tomatoes post last week. “Cherry tomatoes are your best bet,” she said. “And those sun golds are delicious. They’re so sweet that I ate them all right off the vine. My family thinks there were no tomatoes last year. I told them we’ll try again this year.”
As I was loading the car—wedging the replacement preziosa that I was thrilled to find but hadn’t planned to buy into the passenger seat and wrangling the tomato cages into the back seat—because I’d only planned to get bedding plants and hadn’t driven the truck, a woman looked at my brimming Red Flyer wagon and said, “You certainly have your work cut out for you today.”
For a moment, I forgot that the woman did not know that I am the sorry gardener. “Oh, this is nothing,” I said. “You should see what I bought yesterday.”
She laughed knowingly. “Oh, my. Well, that’s only a problem if you leave them in the driveway for a couple of weeks to wilt.”
I smiled. You said it, sister. There’s a bit of sorry gardener in all of us. Maybe it’s time for business cards and t-shirts.
Sad to hear about your back, I feel your pain. Just take it a little easy for awhile, laughing, I know, am I out of my stinkin mind? You are a gardener, and a blogger, there is no way that you will take it easy.
Somehow things still get done, the blog posts get written, the garden gets watered, and eventually everyone gets fed. Blogging and gardening really truly don’t mix in the spring, and summer months, but during those long cold nasty winters, we are more than grateful for the photos that we took.
It all works out in the end. Happy Gardening
Jen
Oh, my. I’ve injured myself laughing at your post. I’ve got a post in the works called “Somebody Stop Me, PLEASE.” Yeah, I’ll take a hundred of those cards and a t-shirt. I suppose it’s no coincidence today I totally filled up my Highlander with plants and yesterday a big box from Bluestone arrived and Tuesday it was a box from Brent and Becky. And I was sorta done for the year . . . . . We need an intervention.
Yeah, it sounds like you were “sorta done for the year.” Happy planting.
I had been wonder what you were going through to take all those amazing shots…the angles…the light…I know that stuff doesn’t just happen.
Sometime I’ll have to tell you about climbing from the cab of my pickup through the window to the bed and back again for a bear shot. I don’t check in everyday, but I love your blog…it is fabulous…it is so inspiring. I’m tempted to tear up my sod and plant, plant, plant…unfortunately I’m not sure the condo HOA would like that. Instead, you’ve motivated me to fill way too many contains on my porches. Have a great weekend!
High praise from you. For now, I’m trying to forget that you’re looking at my paltry photos. Fortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity for any bear shots this year. So glad to hear that you’ve planted some pots. They are still one of my favorite ways to garden.
This post deserves an award.
Don’t take the time to respond, i know you’re there. Plant, plant, plant!!
Gee, that was an awfully nice thing to say. Thank you.
Quit worrying about your back and tell me what that insanely gorgeous flower is! OK, well that was a little harsh but you’re such a tease!
Seriously speaking … get well. Lay down with your tomatoes and maybe they’ll give you a massage! Also … screw laundry and dishes!
Okay, I pulled myself out of traction to go look at tags for you. LOL The middle photo is an Amber Touch rhodie. I don’t know the name of the top/bottom rhodie. It was planted by the previous owners and is one of the few things that survived the remodel bulldozers.
After I get though May Panic, I’m going to make some changes to how I display photos. Hold tight.