I have no desire to get back to the earth, however unfashionable that admission may be. In fact, I try to avoid contact with garden tools at all costs. When Van and I were house hunting a few years ago, I agreed to give up apartment living on one condition: I would never have anything to do with the lawn of any house we purchased. (This is utterly reasonable, right?) To her credit, Van has gallantly kept up her side of the agreement without complaint. It’s not that I’m lazy–I do lots of other work around the house, believe me. But garden? Sorry, I’m not Michelle Obama and I won’t be growing my own organic, heirloom tomatoes anytime soon.
However, I must confess the truth, darlings. Although green chic may elude me, I actually did some container gardening with Van yesterday. She was very clever about getting me involved in this little project; as she explained, planting anything in a pot doesn’t count as yardwork. I had to concede this point. Plus she enticed me with the promise of a post-gardening cocktail hour, which totally worked. (No surprise there.) And I must admit it was rather lovely having cocktails surrounded by all our beautiful flowers!