I get no joy from gardening. Dirt under the nails just isn’t my look. But the front of our house needed work.
I hate gardening. There, I’ve said it. Flame me, roll your eyes. Go ahead. I don’t care. I find zero satisfaction down on my increasingly creaky knees digging among the crawlies and worms, wearing a crazy-lady hat with a net, sprayed down with poison so I won’t get mosquito bites that swell into lumps and keep me up, scratching all night. Even the bug spray gives me a rash unless I’m careful. Long ago I learned to face it: I’m an interior designer. I bake, paint and refinish. Dirt under the nails isn’t for me.


In the past, I’ve shown our trees. This is the first time I’ve dared to show the evolution in the front.












What I haven’t shown amidst all this history is the huge number and size of the weeds. Now that my front yard is looking lush at last, I know I must work to keep it that way. So I’ll grit my teeth and get to the gardening even though I hate weeding most of all.
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I get no joy from gardening. Dirt under the nails just isn’t my look. But the front of our house needed work.
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