Thirty years ago when I took up gardening as a serious hobby, I made lots of mistakes just like anyone else learning something new. I watched a few gardening shows on TV and decided those, plus my love for nature and anything that grows, would be enough. Eventually, after swallowing my pride and asking my neighbors what was working in their gardens (and watching lots more gardening shows), I started to have some success. My herbs flourished, my flowers were beautiful, my vegetable garden thrived, and even my animal neighbors started to visit, my favorites being the bunny family that came to live under the pile of branches I built in the corner of the yard just for them. My greatest plant successes were begonias, petunias, dianthus, daises, foxgloves, and iris. However, the one plant I wanted to grow more than any others was my one great failure ... roses.
My mother loved roses. Growing up in Queens, New York, we were fortunate to have a nice size yard with rose bushes, lilacs, and a hibiscus. Even then, not knowing what I was doing but just loving to be around them, I would deadhead and trim the rose bushes for my mom. I always swore that if I ever had a yard of my own, I would grown roses as a way to remember her. Alas, all the studying and hard work I put in just didn't pay off. I tried them in every sport in the garden, played with the soil, fed them, even begged them. Nothing I did worked. To this day I still can't grow roses.
If I've learned anything in my 73 (coming up on 74) years on this earth, it's this: We're all going to fail at something." Failure is not a sign that we're stupid, or worthless. Sometimes failure is how we learn. I love this quote by Albert Einstein:
"Failure is success in progress."
What I learned from both my failures and my successes in the garden is that as long as I was doing what I loved, and sharing that love with all the creatures that lived in the garden with me, it was a success. So I just don't have the knack for growing roses, so what? You should see my begonias! Even in pots they are thriving on my windowsill. The basil seeds I sowed are starting to poke up through the soil. I have a bamboo plant that I bought when it was about 6 inches tall ... it is now 4 feet in a giant pot next to my desk. I wouldn't call that failure, would you?
So here's the thing: Do what you love and love what you do. Who knows what miracles will grow from that?
And so it is.
