by Toni McKilligan

Created on: August 13, 2008   Last Updated: February 21, 2012

Gardening is not my forte! I do not know the difference between perennials and annuals and the phrase "staking tomatoes" conjures up images of innocent veggies being violently stabbed with sharp wooden rods, rather like vampires' hearts in B horror flicks. I'm relatively certain that is not an accurate portrayal of the term, but it clearly demonstrates my level of horticultural intelligence.

My own garden consisted of a few pots of herbs and a flower bed that had been taken over by weeds. I had tried to pull them out, but I was never sure if I was yanking weeds or flowers. One year I dug up everything, thinking that if I started from scratch, I might be able to pull off a passable attempt. There must have been weeds in the bedding plants (that's what the guy at the garden shop called them) because the hodgepodge of plants that I ended up with seemed to resemble the empty lot across the road more than the pretty flower patches in my other neighbours' yards.

The only things that seemed to thrive in my yard were a blue spruce that came with the house and a juniper bush that was slowly spreading over the walkway leading to my front door. It kept away salesmen and other solicitors though, so I left it alone.

A few years ago an elderly lady named Mrs. Potts moved into the house next door. The yard was nothing to write home about before Mrs. Potts came along, but a few weeks she somehow managed to transform it into a rather showy example of botanical beauty. The lawn was thick and dandelion free. The flower beds were immaculate. The place became a mini Eden. People actually stopped on the sidewalk when they walked by to admire the gorgeous colours. Those same people picked up the pace and looked the other way when they passed my own house.

I may not be savvy with plants, but I happen to make a mean apple crisp and so I decided to welcome the demure Mrs. Potts to the neighbourhood by presenting her with a pan of my specialty. When she opened the door in response to my knock, she frowned. Actually, she scowled.

"Are you the lady from that place?" she asked pointing in the direction of my house.

"Yes," I said. I held out the apple crisp for her to take, smiling as I did so.

"Clean up your yard," she ordered. Then she slammed the door without acknowledging my gift.

I looked back at my little patch of land and sighed. It wasn't pretty. The grass was more yellow than green. The sad little flower bed was dry and cracked. Even the weeds were looking droopy! The blue spruce

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