Every day I walk through our front door I turn a blind eye to last year's weeds, pale but numerous, hiding the new growth of perennials on either side of the entrance.
I know that even if my tiny gardens were adequately maintained and detritus free, they would still look like a drunken monkey planted them.
I am not a gardener.
My mother-in-law, a very gentile woman, even LAUGHED at me when she saw me attempting to dig a hole once.
I repete, I am NOT a gardener.
But still, I love me some flowers. Dahlias, peonies, hydrangeas and tulips are my favorites. I also grow irises. I love that no matter how black my thumb, I can usually get them to return year after year.
Watching something you planted grow is a bit of magic.
I really want the kids see that they can make it happen, too.
If nothing else, it gives me hope that one day I can say to them:
".. Hey, you have your shoes on. Go weed the garden."
and they might just take me up on it.