I don’t think Cheryl will mind that I am “reblogging” her fantastic post. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Cheryl – and thank you for being a part of Greenwoman Magazine!

gardenhood

on the line

Last summer, hanging a week’s worth of gardening garb out to dry, I noticed that some of the T-shirts were more faded on the back than in the front. Chuckling to my self, I thought, “You know you’re a gardener when this happens.” Quicker than the proverbial wink, the question followed: When did I actually know I was a gardener? Did it really begin when grade-school-me planted carrots in the sandbox outside the kitchen door?

Those questions sprouted into something tasty, like one of those beds of multi-colored lettuces. When does a person become a gardener? Are we born this way? Does some latent gene kick in when we’re exposed to grandparents bending over a zinnia or row of beans? Or is it environmental? Is there a virus that enters through the eye, under the fingernails, or in the perfume of a peony? How do you know you’re a gardener? What are the signs? Is it madness?

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  1. It is true, there is a point at which you realize you are a gardener. Your wardrobe has changed, you spend you money on unusual plants, maybe it is the point where you realize that you plan your trips across town so that you can stop at your favorite nurseries.

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