Sunday, November 20, 2011


My Great Grandmother was a fantastic gardener. Good thing, too, since she traveled across the US in a covered wagon and lived in a sod hut and practically gave birth in a buggy on Christmas Eve. She had wonderful garden on a couple of levels behind the home I knew as hers. Parts of it were covered in succulents she called Hens & Chickens.

I am a terrible gardener. I can kill anything. Well, me and my cactus-consuming cat. I have scaled my growing dreams down from flowering pretties. All I want at this point is to grow some Hens & Chickens. So far I've killed 5. The last one I burned to death by watering it in the shower. Apparently I take showers so hot they broil plants.

So I saw a pair of these decorative chairs today and I fell in love but I know they don't deserve to be punished like that.


  1. What a sweet picture! (Of the two of you, although the chair is pretty cute too.)

  2. I love hens & chicks. lovelovelove. as well as that picture. lovelovelove

  3. I killed my hen and chick, too. Despite everyone's protestations that one can't. Oh, I can. I can and I did.