I love things that bloom. All plants and flowers, the brighter, the better. I love those huge tropical flowers that come in dazzling shades of orange, red and fuchsia. The ones that require round-the-clock sun.
I myself have never been good about getting things to bloom. Try as I might, my thumb has never been very green. I wouldn't go so far as to say black, but definitely a muddy shade of brown, much like the healthy soil these plants need to survive. I have killed bamboo plants and cacti, which I thought were supposed to be indestructible. "Bloom where you are planted." Which would not be at my house. Currently, I have four plants decorating my large bay window. Three of them are dead. I keep watering them anyway, not willing to accept that they're really gone.
So it seemed like nature was doing us a little bit of a favor when we moved into this house. Zach likes to refer to it as being "eternally shrouded in darkness." We don't get much sunlight, and what we do get is dappled and moves during the course of the day. I would love to have a garden and grow vegetables, but our property is just not cut out for that. We do have a hanging tomato plant on the side of the house, which doesn't get as much sun as it should and not nearly enough water. A couple of small tomatoes are on there, and they are red, but they're tiny and suffering. Dying, actually, I think.
My children, however, are flourishing. I can keep them alive just fine, thanks, by giving them food and water, and of course lots of love and encouragement. I can look on my windowsill at my faltering plants with a twinge of sadness, but when I look at my kids and how they're growing tall, strong and beautiful, I can't complain about my dirt-brown thumb too much. Besides, the weeds in the front yard are totally thriving.
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