Herbage

Ok, so here's the thing--the herbs are not doing great.

The basil died the first week and its carcass and terra cotta planter were hauled back to Cape Cod for a proper burial in the compost heap.

The rosemary dried up and doubled over shortly thereafter. I've yet to chuck it though; I prefer to keep its skeletal remains on the kitchen counter to remind me of what could have been.

The parsley has succumbed to a mutant attack of aphids.

The sage plant was also insect swamped, but will likely pull through because it always does.

I'm not even going to discuss the jalapeño.

The stevia plant has died, regenerated, died again, and is sprouting once more. Who knows.

The thyme and mint shriveled beyond recognition, though I kept them on the windowsill as decoration for nearly a full month. One day, gazing out the window, I sighed hard and accidentally blew their remains across my room. I sucked up the ashes unceremoniously with the vacuum cleaner.

Zach asked me to put the thai basil out of its misery and rightfully so since by the time he saw it, the poor herb was not so much a plant as it was just a bunch of twigs that I was still watering.

I'm a poor baker because I refuse to buy the proper ingredients choosing instead to adjust the recipe. I substitute flours willy-nilly, I fiddle with the proportions of sugar and eggs, and I omit butter like it's my job. I apply this same flare for improvisation to other areas of my life as well (it's not frugality, it's creativity, really). It's why I refused to purchase potting soil for the great herb re-plant and instead resorted to the remnants of a bag of dirt I found in my mother's kiln shed and then the sandy silt gleaned from the garden. So, I've certainly killed off most of the herbs, as predicted, but something else a little magical has happened--from the depths of the borrowed garden soil, and by pure happenstance, I'm growing a tomato plant...

...and it's already started to bloom. Hope remains.