My thumbs are one of a kind. Well, two of a kind since I have a pair of them.
One? Two? Not that it matters within the context of this post but this is the kind of stuff that will keep me up at night. I still have trouble falling asleep for wondering why the plural of goose is geese but the plural of moose is moose.
Not only are my thumbs rendered useless whenever I laugh, losing anything remotely resembling a fine motor skill, but they also have an uncanny ability to spontaneously turn black and rot off whenever they get too close to a plant or a flower or any kind of vegetation, really.
They are the antithesis of those green thumbs you’re always hearing about.
I am a horticultural death wish, if you will, because of my thumbs. When it comes to the plant kingdom, I can single-handedly change the circle of life into a schizophrenic trapezoid simply by walking past a tulip.
For the good of all living things, I stay far far from nature, preferring instead to view it from the safety and comfort of a climate controlled environment such as my living room. That way, nature is protected from me and I from it. As well as from all the squishy bugs, worms and creepy crawly disgustings that come along with it.
Jebeers, why must the outdoors be so gross?
Nate, on the other hand, is an avid gardener. He loves to get messy and grimy and sweaty, even when there is no sex involved. To his credit, he does do his best to involve me by occasionally asking me for my input as to where stuff should be planted and I will use enthusiastic jazz hands to mime through the bay window directions such as “To the left” and “A little more” and “Go up a bit” and “Sorry, I meant down a bit” and “Stop getting huffy with me” and “No, you are not #1, I am simply flipping you the bird” and “I know you are, but what am I?” and “Perfect! now turn it at a 45 degree angle” and finally “WHERE THE HELL IS THAT PROTRACTOR I GAVE YOU FOR CHRISTMAS?”
In my defense, I do my part by running out there every so often and risking a botanical holocaust just so I can wave my arms around in a frenzy and fling my blackened, decaying thumbs off my hands into the soil for some cheap compost. I do this, even though it means that for days afterward, at least until they regenerate, I have no thumbs with which to text and have to resort to using my toes to communicate online. So if you occasionally see a few MMM MMMMMMM MM M MMMMM MMM status updates from me on Facebook, it’s all because I was helping Nate with the landscaping. That, and because keyboards and cell phones, especially those with touchscreens, are really hard to type on with stubby toes.
Why am I telling you all this?
Because this tree lives in my parents’ front yard.
It’s a Japanese Pagoda tree and it is gorgeous.
It’s the only one in their neighborhood.
It has hundreds of long, graceful branches that are adorned with hundreds of thousands of delicate white blooms.
It’s simply stunning.
Even a gardening ignoramus like me can appreciate its beauty.
Despite living in a moderate southern climate, this tree has weathered some pretty brutal weather and has withstood snow and ice and last month’s torrential storms and tornadoes.
It’s resilient.
But it hadn’t yet met my thumbs and my mom wasn’t going to take any chances. This was a woman who had already experienced the horror of coming *this* close to losing a beloved Japanese Maple at our first house because Dad drove over it with the lawn mower on two separate and distinct occasions known as June 3, 1982 and August YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT YOUR CRAZY FATHER JUST DID, JEEEEE-SUS CH-RRRRRRR-IST, I NEED TO SIT DOWN, GOD.DAMN.IT, 1988.
And, if our common willingness to spend forty-five hours finding $.03 so that a checkbook will balance is any indication, I am my father’s daughter. But instead of a John Deere, I have my thumbs.
So she glued my thumbs into my armpits, called a priest over to perform an exorcism and then made me wear a hazmat suit before she’d let me into her front yard, let alone anywhere near the pagoda tree.
I’m happy to report that both the tree and my thumbs, as well as all surrounding vegetation, survived the ordeal.
I now want a pagoda tree in our front yard and I will take all necessary precautions to make it happen.
Which means I may never venture outside of my house again.
.
.
12 thoughts on “They are as deadly as they are opposable and they should probably be registered as lethal weapons”
Wow, pretty! I’m really jonesing for a cherry or plum tree, myself. Mostly because I want to take macro pictures of the blossoms. =) I’m such a geek!
My thumbs kill foliage as well.
I don’t have green thumbs either, I kill almost everything, I just got a Bonsi tree and guess what, it’s dying already….ugh… THat tree is beautiful though ,I’d love to have one in front of my house if someone else could care for it for me lol
That tree is awesome…I’ll take one too!
Oh i want one too but have the same problem you do. Nothing lives. Including the Japanese maple
A very impressive and beautiful tree.
My parents, as you know are gardening gurus, so you need to apply to be adopted by them, so they will visit on regular occasions with a boot (trunk) full of plants and removed those that have “failed to thrive” (died).
I warn you – there is a long adoption queue!
It’s gorgeous – I want one too!
i am a plant killer!! My kids seem to do much better than I
Um, not to burst your bubble or anything, but……… are you aware that Japanese Pagoda trees can grow to 65 feet tall? They get wide, too. Also, they don’t bloom until they are 10-15 years old. So, for one with black thumbs, you’d best be sure Nate’s up to the challenge before planting one in your yard. Unless, of course, you don’t mind it getting ginormous. I’m just saying, for it to look all purty-n-petite like the one in your parents’ yard, it will take work.
http://www.coopext.colostate.edu/4dmg/Trees/pagoda.htm
Love the tree, but you need to do your research. For the brutal winters you have up there, maybe you should consider a birch?!
I haven’t had thumbs since I tried to grow rosemary in an attempt to have rosemary skewered chicken for dinner whenever I wanted.
See, here in the I.E. our Summers are akin spending nine months on the face of the sun or taking a vacation at The Lake Of Fire.
Sooo…They kind of died and my dreams of fresh rosemary skewered chicken were destroyed forever. Plus I probably didn’t water them quite enough to make up for the SCORCHING HOT FIRE that is our Summer days. And Spring days. And Fall days.
But I digress.
That tree is beautiful. I’d love to have one myself, as long as it came with a 10 year warranty. And it’s own gardener.
Hate to burst your bubble but that’s not a pagodatree… It’s a white fringe tree and won’t get bigger than a maximum of 20 feet high… Beautiful tree in its own right. 🙂