Apparently the best way to hear Mother Nature laugh is for you and your fiancée to get overly excited and go out and spend a fair chunk of change on a ridiculous amount of plants for your apartment’s postage-stamp-sized porch. I have announced on many occasions that I hate talking about the weather, but in the event of it just flat-out being a bitch, I’m willing to make an exception.
For those of you not privy to the delightfully fickle nature of Midwestern weather, the saying goes “If you don’t like the weather, just wait a day.” Which is kind of a goofy way of saying we have no fucking idea what to expect whenever we open our eyes every morning. It is entirely likely you can go to bed with a warm pattern of 75-degree weather only to wake up to snow and hail with a “raining frogs” chaser. So yeah, sometimes we get a freaky day here or there, but usually we’re back to seasonally normal the day after. Not this week. No, after two solid weeks of delightfully balmy 70-80˚ weather the beginning of April has decided to kick us squarely in the crotch with the icy foot of winter. Tuesday’s high was the low 50’s (still not bad) yesterday we didn’t crack 49˚ and it plummeted to the 20’s last night. Not to besmirch our Canadian brethren, but if I wanted to live in Jack Frost’s armpit I’d move to Alberta. Just…just check out the forecast, dear readers:
Six-bloody-teen degrees? Are you fucking serious? I wouldn’t normally care too much because, as I say, the weather is the dry-hump of small talk conversations, but with the end of March lulling Hanni and I into a false sense that sub-zero temperatures waved bye-bye for the season, we sort of went a little horticulturally insane. Hanni loves springtime and her family has a huge garden complete with several fruit trees, so the smell and look of flowers makes her happy in her pants, which translates to an even happier time for Mr. Jett. Last weekend she purchased two hyacinths, two cacti, a botanical boatload of pansies and several other flowering plants the names of which I have forgotten. I prefer herbs and food-bearing plants, so I bought mint, parsley, cilantro, rosemary, basil, thyme, jalapenos, cherry tomatoes, radishes and brussel sprouts. The wisdom of attempting to grow that last inside pots on a cement porch notwithstanding, it’s a pretty hefty load. All of which is currently residing on our kitchen table,
getting angrier and angrier the longer they sit without sufficient light sources. I’ll post pictures of the agriculture nightmare that has become our dining room later tonight, along with the sad desolation of the vacant plant racks on our concrete slab of a porch that was a garden oasis until that evil whore Mother Nature started cackling like a madwoman.Until the return of quasi-seasonal weather next week I fear there will be no joy in Hanni’s pants. And a table full of ailing vegetation, of course. Ergo, the cilantro won't be the only thing limp and wilting.
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