I used to be an Upright Kind of Gardener: plant seeds and water them and tend them tenderly.
Now: plants plant themselves, elbow aside weeds, and have to be 100% drought resistant to survive.
Amazingly, the plants that make their home in my garden do all those things. They are Ultimate Survivors. I attribute this miraculous garden to three things.
First, the line from Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum says "Life will find a way" refers to the cloned dinosaurs' ability to procreate, despite the odds. This line also applies to my garden. It finds a way. Relentlessly and amazingly.
Second, there is a statue in my garden of Mary, Mother of God. It was left by the previous owner of my house, when I purchased it over a decade ago. Although I am not Catholic, I felt she had squatter's rights, and she has genially stood guard in the garden for all these years. I can't help but feel she has had a positive influence. Note the healthy growth vying to snuggle up to her. These plants just showed up, lacking any kind of gardening husbandry, which adds to my theory that if she can conceive immaculately, so can the garden.
Third is my quirkish philosophy that every organic material that enters my house has a right to return to the earth. So I compost in a bin I sometimes maintain in the back garden, or--shortcut--throw stuff in the garden to rot. Thereby hangs a tale. The little pumpkin in the photo above has a family tree: "Mama" was a decorative pumpkin purchased from Busch's groceries. When Mama lived out a long and useful existence decorating my classroom last year, I brought it home and tossed it in the garden. And forgot about it. This spring, when some vines started growing in the general vicinity, I didn't know what it was--all those vines look alike--but was hoping that I'd tossed a watermelon there. A month ago, they manifested in their true form, and the whole lineage became clear. So I will have some cute little pumpkins to put in my classroom again this year. But no watermelons, sadly. Or pattypan squash, yum. Although the cucumber vine I have been waiting on all hot, dry summer to show something for its nice foliage DID finally come up with . . . a zucchini. My fault. I actually planted this one.
The other vines clinging to the Virgin are cherry tomatoes. I think cherry tomatoes are in line, right behind cockroaches, to survive nuclear holocaust. They have incredible survival rates. These tomatoes, I'm pretty sure, originated many years ago from some cherry tomatoes my Dad sent home with me from the farm in Illinois. The leftover/rotten ones of which eventually got tossed in my garden. Since that time, cherry tomatoes have dominated my garden landscape, and I haven't planted a SINGLE ONE. Much as witchgrass dominates my yard. "Multiply and be fruitful " are words straight from the Bible, extremely well illustrated by the cherry t's, and appropriate to their locale next to the Virgin.
So my Lazy Gardener persona--didn't Buddha have a few irresponsible incarnations?--does, actually, give me a great deal to philosophize about, buttresses my spirituality, and gives me good stories. As well as usable produce. The neighbors aren't impressed by my trailer-trash landscaping, but they will never know, with their chemically treated yards and climate controlled plantings (they actually sprinkle their yards, because they can), the Miracle of the Unplanted Garden.
And then there are the Kentucky Wonder Pole Beans, which are maybe behind cherry tomatoes and cockroaches for Apocalypse Survival....... Slob Gardeners are surrounded by Wonder.
Note: the little white patches on the pumpkin vine leaf are crushed eggshells from the ducks and chickens in my backyard neighbors' coop. I get a dozen organic/free range chicken/duck eggs once a month, delivered to my door, by Nina and Amelia, for which I recompense them $6, which my Mom thinks is Horrible and Ridiculous. The shells are like neighbors, so I can't just throw them in the trash, and they go the Throw Them In The Garden route that non-composted organic material follows at my place.
Disclaimer: I really don't believe the shells will grow into eggs, but if they do, I will write a sequel to Jurassic Park.
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