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two flowerbeds, one and half feet by three feet. I thought a small shrub for the back of each would fill the space and cut the cost of buying plants each year. Total bill - $350.00. That was just my first trip. By the time I'd finished correcting mistakes and the greenhouse had closed for the season, I'd bought another $250 worth of other plants and paraphernalia.

Lesson number six was one I really should have seen coming; it's hard to tend a flower garden if you are terrified of bees. Pulling up weeds and deadheading annuals requires you to get up close and personal with your flowers. Bees love flowers. I hate bees. No, that's not true. I hold no malice towards bees, but they scare me witless. Besides, I'd planted annuals at the foot of the front steps, placed two huge planters at the top, and hung baskets by the door. It was like running a bee-lined gauntlet to get inside. A bit of foresight might have helped. Certainly the "gardening is relaxing" myth was dispelled. My adrenalin was on high half the time.

Lesson number seven was not one I'd anticipated; gardens require a bit of knowledge to maintain properly. Wasn't gardening meant to be easy? Don't plants grow in the wild without an expert to tend them? My flowerbeds actually did well and my lawn started to fill out and look great even though I had to cut it twice a week. However, the fuchsias had somehow morphed into baskets of sticks. Apparently they do better in shade. My front steps sat in the full sun. Some flowers in the pots went to seed after I'd neglected to deadhead them. As they began to look a little thin, I headed back to the garden centre for more fillers. I really had to get some expert advice and my mom was more than happy to oblige. Don't parents wait for that moment when their children admit they may know something after all? My $600.00 didn't go to total waste. My mom helped me keep the rest of my flowers alive until first frost, and they did look great.

Autumn came and I was at least $1100 poorer. My hands were calloused and my nails had no hope of pulling off a French manicure. I had a yard full of green grass and two tiny spots of colour beside the front steps. Now, here came lesson number eight; gardening is addictive. Despite the cost, the fear, the failures, and the pain, I was hooked.

That fall, I surveyed my yard, and in my mind's eye, I was cutting up more lawn for beds near the front. I planned some shrubs, some trees and more perennials. Money was no object, pain no barrier. I wanted more. And over the years, I got it. By the time I moved, I had three more huge flowerbeds, five trees, and about a dozen shrubs. My gran would have loved it. I certainly did. Even though I've since sold the house, I still feel that the garden is mine. My blood, sweat and tears (and cold, hard cash) went into it. I've not seen my garden since I left Canada four years ago, and maybe that's a good thing. The current homeowners may not appreciate me digging up their grass.

Learn more about this author, Mary Grundy.
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