Purple petunias

I've never been a gardener. In fact, I've developed a bit of an aversion to it. Meredith is a gardener, which is why I wound up googling clematis last night after midnight when she emailed that she bought a trellis for clematis. After I saw a photo of the climbing flowers, I said "Oooh." Then I sneezed - even over the internet.

I know that's where my aversion to gardening began. My parents, who grew up in the city, decided to plant gardens in our large suburban yard - flower gardens and vegetable gardens. I was pressed into service to weed the gardens every Saturday morning and hated the job. At that age I had allergies,sinus and hay fever issues, so I spent most of the time sneezing and trying to see through watery eyes. After I stumbled into a patch of tomatoes one day I was released from duty and returned to my book to read.

It wasn't until years later that I ventured into a garden again. One of my university friends was planting petunias at her home and asked if I wanted to help.

I wandered over to where she was planting a petunia. She prepared the soil, placed the plant in the hole, and patted the dirt around it, making it all comfy.

"Then," she said, standing, "after you plant it, you talk to it a bit." She turned to the plant and said cheerily "Welcome to my garden. Grow and thrive!"

Huh? I thought she was kidding me, but she looked serious. So I squatted down, took a petunia from the bin and planted it the way she showed me under her watchful eyes. There it sat, in the ground, and I had to think of something to say to it.

"Hi there, petunia," I began. I cleared my throat and placed a thumb on a purple petal. "I've never spoken to someone of your species before, but I wish you enough rain so you're not thirsty, yet not enough to flood you. I hope you have enough sun to make you grow, but not so much that you wilt." Hey this was easy. I was on a roll. " And I hope there's no hurricane this year that will rip your little petals off-"

"What are you doing?" my friend asked, in the same wounded tone my father had after I stumbled through his tomato patch. She knelt down and said to the petunia "We hardly ever have hurricanes. Just know that you're welcome here in this safe little garden well protected." Then she looked at me. "Stay away from my petunias," she said.

Banned from yet another garden. I sighed as I returned to reading my book.

You know, life changes but not that much.