I am a master gardener.
Or at least I’d like to think I am after my first real foray into gardening this past weekend. My six-months-pregnant wife, Jenny, and I installed flower beds in front of our home, planting a large number of perennials to add some curb appeal to a yard that had been full of weeds just a month ago before we had a lawn planted.
The lawn is slowly growing – Mother Nature, we could use some rain – and edging has been placed all around the house as preparation for flower gardens.
I’ll admit I know little to nothing about planting flowers, vegetables, trees or any other growth that require water, sun and possibly a “whisperer” who will talk them into becoming full, colorful and vibrant. I’m just starting to understand the difference between a perennial and an annual, although I think better words could have been chosen for each as annual, to me at least, suggests it will come up annually.
It’s funny I know little about plants, because through high school and college I worked at Walmart in my hometown and spent hundreds of hours working in the lawn and garden department, advising people about the plants they wished to purchase. I knew nothing, but the customers didn’t know that, so I just told them what they wanted to hear. “Does this plant require a lot of sun, because it would go in a location without much sun?” someone might ask. “No, not much at all. You’d be fine getting it,” I replied. I’m sure a lot of plants probably died due to my advice.
My work experience there allowed me to hate plants. They came in by the truckload, and people bought them just as quickly. I spent hours moving them from one bin to the next, in order to make room for the next shipment, and just as many hours piling up bags of soil and manure that required just as much movement. Looking back now, it probably was fun, but back then I cursed every plant I saw. My harsh words probably killed many more plants.
Fast forward seven years to our first house in Wautoma. The plants were already there, so we didn’t have much to do to spruce it up. I remember planting a few, but Jenny took care of it as I tried not to kill them. We planted a vegetable garden, but it didn’t do well. Other then a few peas, tomatoes and some lettuce, most vegetables never made it to anybody’s stomach. They probably died because I looked at them wrong.
These flower gardens will be different. Scott “The Plant Killer” Steuck is hopefully dead, replaced by Scott “Plants Are His Friends” Steuck. We spent a great deal of time putting down yard fabric, selecting a wide variety of different plants from nearly every greenhouse in the Stevens Point/Plover area, and then planting them in specific locations in front of our house. All led to my favorite part of the endeavor: placing mulch. I discovered I love the smell of mulch, and hauling it from the truck to the flower gardens in my new wheelbarrow was a blast. In my next life, I’m going to be that guy who only does that for a living.
I’m also talking to the plants, and I think they are responding. “This guy seems rather simple,” they are probably thinking. “He’d probably be easily amused if we became full, colorful and vibrant.”
Time will judge as to whether or not I can also be called a plant whisperer.
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, May 25, 2012.
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