There is so much blossoming going on around here, one would think I have a flower garden.

Not that my barren flower bed looks like one, because unfortunately, between my back and my poor watering schedule it looks more like an abandoned graveyard where flowers go to die. Where I leave my bachelor buttons to bake to a crisp and over water my basil after first dehydrating it, leaving it a shriveled, soggy, soupy mess. (We did get to make a pot of marinara and some caprese before I killed it, however, marking the first thing I have grown from seed to table since I was a child).

The only thing that did make it was the marigolds.

The bulletproof, brown-thumb-proof marigolds.

Now I understand why my mom always planted them (I mistakenly thought they were horribly ugly and stinky as a child).

But if children were flowers (they are)

buds are unfolding everywhere despite my inability to make my garden blossom. Continue reading “Marigold”