With all of my newfound time this summer, I’ve delved into more than a few chapters of interests. There was my bread-and-jam making phase, a yoga phase, and a cooking phase (which I suppose I’m still in). I’ve recently entered my gardening phase, where I’m taking interest in plants and terrariums, and finding myself in a state of jealously toward those with real live yards to harvest things.
I bought a book a few weeks back — it’s called Herbs. Can you guess what it’s about? Wait…oh…yes, it’s about herbs. I admittedly haven’t read it yet, but when my best friend visited, I reviewed it with such strange enthusiasm that lead her to sporadic interjections of the word “herbs” in our conversations. Since then I’ve had herbs on the brain, just dreaming of the day I could snatch a handful of fresh mint from a plant conveniently located on my windowsill, then make a gargantuan mojito to drink the satisfaction.
I went to a garden center yesterday and paced around for a good hour. I was looking for the easiest and the hardest route simultaneously, which I found with plants often coexist. A seed might be “easy” to grow if, say, you have light, space, and time for it. With my dark apartment the size of a mouse hole coupled with a slight case of ADD, I manage to be the worst candidate for growing anything other than fungi on decaying fruit (which is beside the point). What is most disheartening to me is that the seed packets give you the recipe for success! Everything from directly stating what brand of soil (“We recommend (our brand of soil)”) to the perfect time and place to plant, when to transfer the plant to a larger area, and what to expect. They even tell you to use the end of a pencil (specifically) to puncture the soil to plant the seed. It seems completely failsafe!
After eyeing an herb starter kit with eight different varieties, I brought myself back to the reality of, “Whoa, Jenny, let’s not bite off more than we can chew.” Nobody jumps into 10 feet of water if they don’t know how to swim, and I certainly wasn’t going to epic fail on this one. Maybe fail — but not epic fail. I found neat-o biodegradable planters in happy colors and with the help of a seasoned gardener, selected my three babies: Dill, Lemon Thyme, and Basil.
Okay, I cheated with the kickstarter plants. I’m not their real mother. But in my defense, I didn’t grow the seeds because instant gratification got the best of me and let’s be honest, I would have killed them. My herb garden is happily nested at my bedroom window. This morning I rubbed the lemon thyme between my fingers — it smells of spicy citrus, like a perfume or lotion!
My little guys have a little growing left to do, but until then I’ll be dreaming of fresh pesto!