Plant Societies and Cult Memberships- by Felder Rushing- back

Too bad there ain’t a gardeners’ gossip tabloid - I could fill one front to back.

            Don’t know why, but every few months I hear through the grapevine something about me that simply isn’t true. Like how I hate lawns, roses, and chemicals. And that I’m a terrible gardener.

Well, that last one is true. The others are false. Reason I don’t have a neat lawn is because there’s no room in my tiny cottage garden. I actually love a well-tended lawn, in spite of its incredible costs in time, energy, equipment, chemicals. I’m just not willing to do all that stuff, so I just do without. Mulch works just as well (and brown is a color, too).

And I personally grow over forty different kinds of roses, rooting many myself. But rather than do the heavy spray thing, my garden is limited to those that bloom all the time without having pests. Apparently my satisfaction with only having only a few dozen kinds disqualifies me as a rose lover.

And I can’t be in the organic gardening cult, because I go through gallons of Roundup weed killer on poison ivy, nutgrass, honeysuckle, privet, and other hard-to-kill plants. And I use a lot of Osmocote and Miracle Grow, both synthetic fertilizers, for my many potted plants.

All that aside, I’m still not much of a gardener. I don’t tend things very well. I work up the dirt pretty well, plant stuff pretty well, water to get plants established, then let it all go. My main approach to gardening is to overstuff everything, hope some of it dies, then pull up what doesn’t look good. 

            I am perfectly aware that there’s a big difference between being a good gardener, and being a garden expert. And it’s okay with me, so I must be a bad person.

Anyway, it came to my attention last week that somebody said that somebody said that a friend of mine should avoid me, because I’m into the occult. I do have a St. Fiacre statue, official Catholic garden saint. And some pretty but innocuous bottle trees.

Or maybe they said I’m in a cult – though the closest I have ever come was being in the Boy Scouts, and a singing barbershop quartet. Oh, but then I have an American Gourd Society bumper sticker on my old pickup truck proclaiming that Gourds Must Predominate.

That’s as cult-like as I care to get. Bring the false gossip on.