Arrival is one of those predators you don't see coming until your arm is investigating its lower intestine. One moment -OK, more than one moment, many moments, an eternity- you're in transit, and the next you aren't anymore, and you have to figure out what you're going to do with yourself that doesn't involve alcoholism or daytime television or a potent combination thereof.
I did this. Plus two tomato plants. And a fair amount of hubris.
Making a stab at gardening -even container gardening, which is only one notch above keeping houseplants, and not a very impressive notch, at that- is something I always meant to get around to. In fact, I'd been meaning to get around to if for the better part of a decade and a half, which is why I'm so shocked that I actually went and did the thing. I guess sometimes you surprise yourself. Or else maybe there really are things for which you wait -famously, fatuously- for that fabled right time.
Cross your fingers for me. These babies need it. Plants drink milk, right?