Someone should stop me from buying seeds, and planting seeds, and wanting more seeds. But no one has. And look what has happened.
This is only a small portion of the things I have planted. These are just the ones that are further along. I’ve had to add more lights and another table and have resorted to using baking dishes to hold plants. Yet, still, I haven’t stopped.
Sharon – she would be the friend who happens to be a landscaper – tells me I have room for 20-40 plants in my front flower bed. Hmmmm… well…. if 40 is good then 340 must be better… right?
Something tells me I should listen to the woman who makes her living making people’s flower beds look great. But something inside me wants to put in every single little plant.
Maybe this weekend I should start killing more grass in the back yard. I hate mowing it anyway, so this could be ideal – more room for plants and less grass to mow. Sounds like a win-win.
I’ve grown unnaturally attached to the seedlings. Every morning I pad into the sun porch and say “hello little plants” to the row after row of little baby green things. (They do not answer back, just in case you were wondering.)
I have seeds starting on the dining room table, by the kitchen sink, and on the kitchen cabinets. That’s in addition to the multiple trays in the sunroom.
Tonight I was in a store I hadn’t been to in awhile. And $3.61 later, I have five new packages of seeds – things I didn’t have before.
Someone should stop me. Really.
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