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My baby Dill and Basil have been growing stubbornly and turning into teenagers with an attitude almost over night. Each day they stretch their limbs higher to the sun and grow in strength like sumo wrestlers in training.

The Marjoram, on the other hand, is as pathetic as it’s been. I may need to reach out to You Grow Girl for a professional advice on how to grow herbs in urban conditions. Or maybe, just maybe, the fact that my Marjoram is so dormant is directly related to the fact that I keep my “garden” on our building’s breaker box cabinet?

I can’t be blamed for being creative. Stop throwing mud balls at me! What else was I supposed to do, knowing all well that these guys live off of the sun and water for the most part, aside from loving to hang out in a pool of nutritious and funky moist dirt?

We live in a jungle, an urban jungle, and I mean it quite literally. Our building is planted in the middle of a tropical garden with hummingbirds gossiping all mornings, nutty squirrels fighting over nuts, and monkeys hanging out on the palm trees’ branches. We have coyotes, polar bears and sharks in there, too! You have no idea how much work Cosmo puts into keeping the madness under control. He may not look that, but he’s a lion at heart.

One thing we’re lacking the most is the sun. It just can’t break through the network of greenery above our heads. These are not the conditions to raise my herbs in. Hence, the breaker box on the southern wall by our garage, which is exposed to the sun for the better part of the day.

Gayla Trail, I need you, girl.

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I haven’t so much as peeped about it as I was a nervous wreck when approaching the project. But I can no longer stay mute for there’s life sprouting right outside my window, and I am the reason for it. I wish I could say that it was my own seed that I planted, but somehow it resonates a bit odd. The seed, a whole bunch of them actually, were mine by act of monetary exchange, and no other. Should I go on? Oh, sure, I’ll get to the point then. I’ll cut to the chase and stomp firmly on the bottom line.

I have a garden. My very first and 102% my own.

It’s a mere planter of a garden really, but one must begin somewhere. And with me, it’s been a long time coming. Truth be told, for many months since the idea first sprouted in my head, there seemed to be sprouting other things right along. Those are called OBSTACLES (on my way to becoming a gardener) that I have actually planted myself, turned out.  And I only realized that when I found Gaila Trail’s book “GROW GREAT GRUB” and was instantly enlightened. When I first stumbled upon this crazy wonderful book, that nota bene sounds like it’s been written by my lost twin sister (that no one in my family knows of), I got all so excited about the possibility of growing my own herbs (and later hopefully veggies of all sorts as well) that right then and there I grabbed Jason by the crew-neck of his T-shirt and to the store I dragged him. There, we scooped around, found what we needed and left the place carrying a giant bag of dirt, a rectangular planter, a sachet of organic fertilizer, and seeds.

About a month or so later here we are. My children are pushing through the ground, and up to the sky they reach out their fledgling arms. My baby DILL, frolicking in the dirt, so strong, so green…

And if you look closely through its skinny branches, there is my other child also raising its head up, standing hight on its tip-toes, and opening its hungry and insatiate mouth for more sun… My fresh and already alluringly fragrant BASIL. Ah!

Joy fills my every cell and I’m bloated with pride when I glance at these two.

However, like in any family, there’s always one kid that goes against the protocol. The black sheep of the family, it’s ugly duckling, that really simply calls for attention and love. That’s what comes to mind when I look at my MARJORAM, still in a fetal position despite the fact its brother and sister are about to graduate kindergarten.

Am I a bad mother??? What have I done wrong? I water you every other day and keep you out in the sun, just like I was told you’d enjoy. I come and visit as often as possible, talk to you gently and read out loud at night. How else can I assist you, my sweet crippled child? Maybe it’s time for your own bedroom, with a twin bed and a small CD player on the corner shelf?

That’s what I think will happen this weekend. All my darlings will get replanted into their own little pots, with fresh dirt and another dose of the organic fertilizer. Say your prayers, everybody, for I am not giving up on my MARJORAM.

I’ll keep you posted!

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