Plants hate me…
My granny had the greenest fingers of any person I knew. She can take a rock and stick it in the ground and it will grow. Me on the other hand, I can look at a plant in a book and it dies. But I love plants, they are beautiful, and I want them. I want the fairy land garden with herbs and vegetables, ferns cascading in the summer sun, colourful flowers greeting you every morning as you open the window, what a beautiful dream.
In real life, well, that is a different story. I am still waiting for the bean seeds we had to grow as a student project in primary school to shoot a sprout. I did everything from the normal to the slightly frowned upon. I watered them, I made sure they had enough sunlight, enough shade, even enough fresh air, I also named every seed individually, spoke to them, took them for long walks, and when all else failed, I screamed at them, hoping that the fear will make them sprout themselves.
I have to put out a warning ahead of time for this page, plants were hurt in the making of these projects, I did not mean it on purpose.