ADVENTURES IN GARDENING

          Now that it is, once again, safe to leave one’s brass monkey out all night, it’s time to begin serious consideration of the type of garden to put in this year.  Last year, I successfully planted Lobelia and Iris in my front garden, and so far, their relatives haven’t caught on.

I don’t know how many of you are aware of it, but there are even celebrities who make time to enjoy gardening.  Here are a few gardening tips from some of the rich and famous.

Politicians:  “We have flowers beyond compare, and the trick is to use the best fertilizer available.  We just stand in the middle of the flowerbed and read any one of our speeches. It never fails.”

Arnold Swartz…Scwarz…Schwar…The Big Guy with the Muscles Who Talks Funny:  “My flowers always grow tall and strong because I water them with Gatorade.”

Joan Rivers:  “I tell them that if they don’t grow, they’re going to look just like me.” 

Now doesn’t that make you want to rush out, join the local Garden Club and plant evil-smelling geraniums, marigolds, and chrysanthemums as far as the eye can see; then go back to one of the members’ houses for last year’s iced tea and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off?  They will call this “refreshment.”  You will call this “cruel and unusual punishment.”

Oh, the excitement of it all.

I do have to admit that the Darwin Club…I mean, the Garden Club, does wonderful, well-thought-out projects throughout my area.  For instance, the hillsides along the highway were so drab, littered with nothing but endangered wildflowers.  But the Garden Club swept to the rescue by mowing down every last Trillium and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and replacing them with, you guessed it, Crown Vetch.  This is a small creeping flower that is the color of Pepto Bismol and has that je ne sais quoi fragrance that never fails to remind one of an outhouse on a hot August afternoon.  It’s the stuff of Wyeth scenes, l tell you!

And the malls!  Oh, my!  I can’t begin to describe the fabulous container gardens the club plants in those large round concrete planters that are such a funeral home-esque decorative statement.  At a mall nearby, they’ve put in Dusty Miller, White Pansies, and a dark gray something-or-other that I think eats things.  This club is the only one of its kind that can plant an entire living, growing garden that looks dead when they’ve finished with it.  No one knows whether to water it or give it last rites.

Have you also noticed that Garden Club members always plant things that grow low to the ground?  This is because they are low to the ground.  You can’t be a member of the Garden Club in my town if you are taller than 3’7”.  They really ought to call themselves the Garden Gnomes.  I only got in because I lied about my height.  However, I shant (I’ve always wanted to use that word) be a member much longer because of a gaffe (I’ve never wanted to use that word, and I’m sorry I did) I committed last week.

I couldn’t help it.

I ran amok and used club funds to purchase…gasp…trellises!  I trained Morning Glories, climbing roses, Wisteria, and grape vines all over them.

When the club members found out what I had done, they formed a mob and cornered me after a meeting.  It really got ugly – they bit my knees and threw bucket after bucket of water on me, shrieking, “She’s a bad witch!  Melt her!  Melt her!”  Well, as you may guess, all they succeeded in doing was causing me to get drenched and develop a grudge against little people who hide in the tall grass and giggle a lot.

Don’t worry, though.  I’ll have my revenge.  They’re all getting warts.

So drop what you’re doing and join the Garden Club in your town.  Run out now and buy a thick pair of gardening gloves and a huge, floppy-brimmed hat.

The gloves are to protect your hands.

The hat is to protect your identity.