I can remember my mom making me help her in the garden when I was a kid.  I hated it with a passion, and to this day I avoid yard work as much as possible.

But let’s get something straight — my mom was no gardener, either.  If you had asked her about cymbidium care, she probably would have looked at you as if you were speaking a foreign language — or maybe a bad word.  But she got it into her head that she needed to do some landscaping in our backyard, which had never been anything but a lumpy expanse of grass.  Doing work she didn’t like to do made her cranky, so she conscripted me and my sister into helping her.

I remember planting some little bush or something.  I dug the hole and got the bush all situated, and my mom decided she wanted it moved a couple of inches in the other direction.  At that point, I got mad and quit, and that was the end of my gardening days.

Until now.  My husband and I bought our own home, and have decided that the 70s-looking evergreen bushes out in front of the house have to go.  We’re deciding what to replace them with, so I’m learning all about orchid flower care, how to care for rose bushes, etc.  Someday soon I can go up to my mom and ask, "What do you know about phalaenopsis care?" and know the answer myself.

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