I can't begin to list all my fatalities, especially since most of them weren't around long enough to make much of an impression. I know that there was once an orchid (oh, my naiveté to imagine I could pull that off), an herb garden that quickly bit the dust, and some very unlucky lucky bamboo. I remember an especially hardy cactus that stuck around for a while, until it too succumbed to my curse — that's right, I'm less nurturing than a desert. And now I've managed to kill a plant that can actually survive on air itself (but apparently not my air).
I don't know why my thumb is so black; I grew up on a farm for goodness sake, but I think it's time to admit that plants just aren't my gift. Maybe that's a skill in and of itself — knowing when to accept defeat. That time for me was probably many years ago, but I'm doing it now. I'll still bring plants into my home, but I won't be surprised or disappointed when they croak. I'll focus my energy and attention on things I can control instead of getting frustrated by something I can't.
(Image: Jennifer Hunter)