Persistent parsley, the power of practice and prose and the importance of getting your hands dirty

This past weekend, I got my hands dirty. 

Literally. 

My back deck was covered with clumps of spilled dirt, perlite and clay planters cleared of last year’s soil and dead roots and plants in square, plastic containers awaiting their new homes. 

My girlfriend and I found space for a family of succulents that survived the winter, then planted various lantanas, yarrow and rose bushes in clay pots on my back porch. Oregano, basil and peppers found their way into a beautiful planter that Jake Grisamore (youngest son of Melody columnist Ed Grisamore) built for me last year (check out GrisWorks on Facebook/Instagram). 

The herbs and peppers were planted next to three massive parsley plants that, having shaken off heat, rain and frost, have grown at least a foot in the past month, as well as some hardy rosemary that also survived the winter. A small stone birdbath, complete with a laconic carved frog, completed the back porch paradise (for now… I have plans to expand with ferns, morning glories and more).

It’s April and the sun is shining. Perhaps you, like me, feel an unquenchable desire to plant and prune and surround yourself with lovely, growing things. (And if you are, you should check out our new weekly gardening column on Page A6 or online at maconmelody.com, written by Karol Kelly and other members of the Bibb County Cooperative Extension office).

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My love of growing things began when I was young, both through practice and prose. I learned to coax tall pepper stalks and arching tomato vines from Texas blackland, infusing the heavy clay soil with fertilizer and hard well water and care in desperate defense against baking suns, cow killer ants and insatiable grasshoppers. 

I lost more than I won. Peppers seemed to relish the dry heat, but watermelons, squash, strawberries, pumpkins… none survived the interminable summers and insects, the drought and the weak soil. But I shrugged off these losses, much like my mother who manages to kill an ever-growing list of houseplants (other than a seemingly indestructible philodendron). 

The dream of a garden full of vegetables, herbs and flowers, a place for hummingbirds and butterflies and running water, was born from repeated readings of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s 1911 book “The Secret Garden.” 

As a child, homeschooled and forced indoors by 100 degree summer heat, I often dreamed of turning a corner or opening a door to a new world, to unexplored forests or flowing gardens. “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe,” “Gone-away Lake” and “The Secret Garden” captured my imagination in enduring, pervasive ways.

This spring, I’m building my own little secret garden in my own little corner of Macon, planting one green thing at a time.

Caleb Slinkard is the managing editor of The Macon Melody. Email him at caleb@maconmelody.com.