All Thumbs, But That's Okay

It must be in the blood.

It couldn't have been from fun experience.

As a kid, I was the designated weed puller from a garden that was as full of clay as a Terra Cotta pot. Come summer, when the growing slowed for everything but the weeds, I found myself directed to this concrete-based dirt to pull crab grass which had already established a root system somewhere in Middle Earth. I distinctly remember that tapestry of cracks throughout the flattened garden that only yielded to the ornery old tiller that I was always far from taming. 
So I pulled weeds--by hand. The hierarchy of tools was Dad, the tiller operator; Mom, the hoe operator; and me, pulling weeds and grasses with the strong little hands that God gave me. 

I think now the experience would be classified as "character building". Then it wasn't really anything other than "go pull weeds". As those of us from that era know, our parents didn't need to identify with any programs or methods other than the universal "get your tail out there". 

And, I've loved it ever since--even the weed pulling with the strong little hands God gave me.

I've been at gardening of one type or another for several years, and I've surpassed the Black Thumb phase. Once in awhile, I even achieve a little Green Thumb glory. But, for the most part, I'm pretty much an All-Thumbs Gardener.

And it hasn't stopped me yet.