Today’s blog post may end a beautiful friendship because I have something to confess that my friend doesn’t know about and I am sure she will clobber me with a rubber boot when she reads this.
It all started when she went away on holiday and left me in charge of watering her garden and picking up her mail occasionally; easy enough. Then, a package arrived from a seed company that said something about planting the contents immediately. I texted my friend, who said a mild curse word I won’t repeat, and that the seed company was not supposed to send the asparagus crowns (that the package contained) until after she got home.
So, she asked me if I could plant them for her temporarily in a large pot and she would move them when she got back. ‘No problem, be glad to’, I replied.
Confident in the greenness of my thumbs, I assembled the necessary accoutrements for survival of the asparagus; potting soil, pot and watering can, and gently planted the crowns in their new little oasis and watered them in.
Now, these are asparagus crowns, and this is how they should be planted.
And I planted them upside down with their alien-like tentacles (which I took to be shoots) wiggling around in the air.
As I walked home afterward, I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, and a quick internet search (which I likely should have done before I went a-planting) appraised me of my error.
Horrified, I rushed back to my friend’s garden to save the wrongly interred crowns. I would simply plant them the right way up and my dear friend would never know. But now the crowns, that should be completely dry prior to planting, were soaking wet and covered in soil.
I decided the best action was to leave them drying out in the well-ventilated garage and come back and plant them once dried. When I told my friend I had left them drying in the garage as they were a bit wet (omitting the reason why), she thanked me profusely and said don’t worry, she would plant them when she got home after all.
I should have come clean right there and then, but I just couldn’t face up to my shame. When she came back and the asparagus ended up in its final resting place (right way up) I was too far in and knew I had to live with my deceit forever.
Why am I confessing now? Because it has been gnawing like a mouse in a cheese factory at my conscience. You know what it’s like when you try and cover up a mistake, it festers into a big, guilty boil that you know if you burst will blow a crater in your trustworthiness forever.
I am also worried that if those much-abused asparagus crowns don’t grow this year that she will falsely accuse the seed company of selling her bad stock. I won’t let them take the fall for me.
Sorry my friend, but in my defence, the other veggies I helped you plant all appeared to grow in the right direction. I just hope you can give me one more chance to redeem myself.
Image: Keegan Houser on Unsplash
by angela lovell 