So the basil’s not exactly upright these days.
Can you believe they let me take it home? Were they not aware that I have priors? Year after year I buy a pot, make all kinds of lofty promises about keeping it happy and watered, and then this happens.
Droopy, muted leaves.
I thought I had it figured out this time. The tag says “Full Sun,” which is not hard to come by in these parts. I’ve learned a thing or two in the past year thanks to other planting escapades and decided that I was probably putting the basil too close to the house. Too much reflected heat.
This year I put it in the backyard. No reflected heat, but no water, either, because I’d gone and forgotten all about it. Not the way to treat basil, I know. Basil is hardly deserving of this kind of negligence; it’s been nothing but good to me.
You s’pose if I water it with greater frequency it’ll spring back to its former loveliness?
Contrast my gardening attempts with those of kindergarteners. Quinn brought these tomatoes home from the school garden today, and promptly bit into them for her snack.
If only I’d been able to give her a sprig of basil to go with them.
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