My father’s legendary green thumb has once again sent shockwaves rippling throughout the community. He called me up last night with the earth-shattering announcement: his garden is looking really fucking great this year.
That’s right, my father’s garden, affectionately known as “Bill’s Oasis,” is flourishing like never before. With the meticulousness of a heart surgeon, my father has spent his summer pulling weed after weed from the precisely tilled rows of his garden. In a phone call last night, He says he spent hours “curating his palette” in the Home Depot garden center, and that the result is “a goddamn masterpiece.”
“I’ve got five different kinds of tomatoes out there,” Dad shared loudly, unaware of how speakerphone really works, “And our sunflowers are so tall, the Federal Aviation Administration showed up and told us we had to cut them down. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” He texted me a picture of his bell pepper plants after the conversation and Jesus Christ were they magnificent.
My mother says, “Bill’s Oasis this year puts British royal gardens to shame. Plus, I don’t think you get to eat anything from their sissy garden anyways.” Mom says, “Like, holy shit, this is one of the best years for your father’s garden I can remember. Maybe 2003’s crop topped this, but I’ll need to wait until the first salad in order to make that judgment.”
There is much speculation as to how my father pulled this year’s kickass harvest off. One popular theory is that the AARP card carrier has mastered the art of whispering sweet nothings to his plants. Imagine it: a man bending over rows of plump, succulent vegetation and serenading them, encouraging their growth with tender humming and gentle words of encouragement. It’s safe to say my father’s green thumb has evolved into a full-blown green heart. “I wish he would talk to me that way,” my mother comments.
According to my dad, “Dinner in a few weeks is going to be fucking insane.”