If I had a Trowel

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “If I Had a Hammer.”

If I had to choose a skill set to keep in my back pocket it would be landscaper/master gardener. Oh, I dabble in the art of gardening at present; I have peppers in a small backyard veggie garden, tomatoes in containers and flowers all over the place. But to have real skills, now that would be awesome!

To be able to look at a space and know what types of plants, trees, and flowers would go well and grow well is an amazing skill. How I would love to take a seemingly barren yard and turn it in to the neighborhood showplace. I have never had much of a knack for decoration or design; I know what I like but it never seems to end up like I pictured it. I imagine Monet and it ends up Picasso-at best. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing in the dirt and coaxing things to grow; however I just don’t feel like I have the appropriate skill set that one needs to design a beautiful space. But who am I kidding? I am not even sure how to decorate inside let alone outside.

So there you go, I not only need to learn landscaping but room-scaping too! How happy I would be with the ability to plant this here, throw that there, and paint this and thus and have it come out looking like Better Home and Gardens.  Think of the money I could make on the side too!If images (2)

Tend the Garden

This was a perfect read after visiting my daughter in rehab this past weekend. There were so many Pokeweeds there-a veritable Poke-salad! What a beautiful reminder that no soul is here on earth without a purpose; and we have all been or will be a poke weed of some kind at one time or another.

Storyshucker

A longtime friend commented during dinner that her next door neighbor’s son was on the path to nowhere and constantly in trouble. She thought herself clever referring to him as “a weed in the garden of life”. Although an avid fan of barbed words and wit, I found her comment harsh directed at a kid who was barely a teenager. He was dismissed and labeled as worthless. A weed.

“But maybe he’s a pokeweed!” I said in a positive tone.

She rolled her eyes. I recognized the look of resignation on her face. The look many of my friends have when I spit out a puzzling one-liner and they know a story is coming. She sipped her drink and grinned, arms crossed in silent permission for me to proceed.

Years ago I had a yard packed with plants. It was full of boxwoods, azaleas, and geraniums surrounding a dogwood centerpiece…

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