Goodnight, Whimsy

Yesterday was the first ever day I spent in the garden with no sense of excitement or anticipation. I wandered about half-heartedly with a little despair at the general state of things. Nothing had changed that dramatically since last I was out there,  but this time I'd felt like I'd reached some kind of personal plateau. 


I was racked with guilt and disbelief at the frenzied hacking I'd given the tomatoes after reading some unsubstantiated opinions on The Interweb that tomatoes need continuous pruning to avoid disease. There was a growing dog poo population settling in around tender little seedlings. The corn and pumpkins had remained stubbornly at the same size since last week. And one of the capsicum plants had faded to a shade closer to yellow than green. 


 I had reached the stage in the gardening process where new and cute things now needed more than just water and gazes. Now I needed to know how to cater to individual plant needs. Pot ash? Lime? Mulch? Too much mulch? Weeding? Compost? Prune? Don't Prune? Leave the flowers on? Pick them off? Pluck lower stems? Leave it to seed? Snip seeds off? 


So the garden and I have decided to move in.  Starry-eyed glances, long walks together, love letters; They're all over. Now we've got the business of production to deal with. Strawberry plants have charm but less so without the strawberries. And the gardener? Well I can't just be giving loving looks and the odd drink of water as my end of the bargain. If the sorrel doesn't make it, forgive it and take some blame.    
 It's time for a little less whimsy. A little more long-term commitment.