My mother has a green thumb. She can grow just about anything. I've seen her take a stick out of the yard, plunk it into a plastic milk jug she cut in half and 3 weeks later she's got a fully bloomed plant with rainbow colored flowers. She's that good.
I did not inherit that particular gift.
Varicose veins, yes. Green thumb, no.
My green thumb envy usually manifests itself by dragging my poor husband into the garden center at our hardware store. It's there where I convince him that "this year will be different!" and begin buying plants with names like "Better Boy" and "Admiral" and "Yellow Ebenezer". How can you possibly mess up with a tomato plant called "Better Boy"? It just screams success.
Over the years I've had small gardens, big gardens, raised-bed gardens, and drywall bucket gardens. Gardens with cow manure, chicken manure, and worm manure (I even attempted to raise my own worms that spring...I got maggots). Gardens that I have over-watered, under-fertilized, and never weeded. Gardens with strings, bells, sprinklers, fences, posts, and cages.
And every year, they all turn out the same. Like the scary house in a Stephen King novel.
Horrifying tales of brown, twisted plants. Fungus covered vegetables. Ugly black bugs. Smelly dirt (how that's possible I don't know but one year the dirt smelled). And some withered, skinny old man, standing in the middle of the garden, waiting in the dark to scare some innocent youngsters (that would be the scarecrow I bought at the craft store a few Octobers ago, with the hopes of scaring away rabbits...now I just put him by the mailbox at Halloween).
But my green thumb envy has kinda ebbed this spring for some reason. I've been to the farmers market a few times and I made it through the garden center without buying a single plant last week. But who knows, maybe this year, we'll put in a fall garden....oooh, I know! what about our own pumpkin patch...