the thing about hanging plants
the thing about buying hanging plants is that in the chilly start of a northwoods summer, the leaves are slow to open. the flowers wait until well into June. but the sun is out and the days are long and I want the color those hanging plants provide. I want the promise of their greenhouse grown blooms to remind me of what comes next, if I can just manage to wait for it.
but by the end of July, I've mostly let them die where they hang. not because I wanted to, but because summer did really come, eventually, and I didn't need to look to them for flowers anymore. by the peak of summer, green and blooming life is everywhere we look. the evening summer rain keeps them lush, but the eaves my hanging plants hide under prevent them from benefiting from the glory of a thunderstorm. I have a watering can. I forget about it every day.
when I finally notice them again, they are dead. sometimes I try to revive them -- exorbitant amounts of water and a few whispered words of encouragement. but it's too late. I know that. I knew on the day I bought them how this would end.
next year, I resolve, I'm not going to buy these. I'm going to wait for the real thing so I don't have to accidentally but also very much on purpose kill these substitutes. but by next May, I'll probably start this cycle again.
the yellow flowers in hanging baskets will make me smile, make me hope. I'll buy them, and resolve to care for them properly as I put them in the car. but I know how this will end.
I'm going to stay too long at the beach, stay at extra night at camp, eat dinner slowly in the backyard while they fry on the front porch. I'm going to keep them alive when the weather is warm and the buds are right, I'm going to leave them to die when the water is warm and the leaves are loose. I know how this will end.
