I swore at the beginning of this spring, when the weather started getting warmer and I could venture out onto my balcony, that I would not torture any plants this summer by attempting to grow them. That’s what I said at least.
I do not have a green thumb. I didn’t get those genes. Sure, they run in the family. I grew up at my grandparents’ house and my Grandad has a magnificent garden. My aunt maintains that garden now and it’s a sight to see. But when I was growing up in that house gardening was my punishment. When I did something bad (which, granted, wasn’t all that often) I was told to go outside and weed the garden. I hated weeding then and I still do now.
My brother, on the other hand, did inherit the gardening genes. He too has a balcony attached to his apartment and…
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