Summer Planting

Dianthus in pots. One ended up in a bed
along the side of the house.

Officially, it is spring. At least in the calendars widely published. In nature it is the cusp of summer—a fulcrum of transition. I planted a few petunias and dianthus.

Officially, I've given up on the seed thing because I can't make it work anymore. I think of my grandmother standing in my teen room, indicating a pot of hard soil, and saying, "What's that growing in cement." I had no clue on how to grow plants. I am mildly improved after 45 years of trying.

I reached my apex a few years ago when half of the impatiens seeds I planted grew into viable flowering plants. That was when I realized I took no joy in the labor any more. And my policy is to avoid (as much as possible) activities that do not bring joy.

I'm not experienced in growing in this kind of climate, a sort of half-desert. It can be 80 one day and then drop to 39 by morning. This is spring. I'm told in the summer it's unrelenting heat punctuated by tornadoes.

Looking forward to it.

Petunias and a survivor of my seed experiment.