Growing Up

In a rather shocking move, I've decided to make a relatively brief post this week. As usual, though, something has been on my mind.

This weekend, I participated in a conversation about wine with some younger people. When one mentioned that his girlfriend loves White Zinfandel, another said, "Oh, give her a couple of years, and she'll grow out of it." I quickly agreed.

And that has troubled me for the last couple of days. After all, what about that wine suggests immaturity, and why was I so quick to think it does? What bothers me is not the issue of the wine. I'm mostly irritated that any of us should make rules about what constitutes maturity in some cases. Don't get me wrong. I do, in fact, believe that people need to be responsible for themselves. I'm less certain we all need to meet sweeping expectations about our tastes. If you like Cap'n Crunch or Blow-Pops or whatever is someone else's version of edible immaturity, I say, eat up.

You see, I'm another example of this immaturity of taste. I have come to understand that having one of every plant is the true mark of a gardening novice. Mature gardeners, I've been told, restrain themselves and become more selective so that the garden is more cohesive. I've been trying to do that over the last year. After this weekend's wine discussion, though, I think I may very well live in a sort of gardening Neverland and grow one of every plant that I love and can grow well. Anyway, it's still cohesive through its celebration of flowers. In this instance, I will not grow up.

I shall leave you all with that thought and with some photos of my favorite plants, many of which have no mates.

Don Juan flying solo

Veronica...table for one

A Black-Eyed Susan, single and loving it

The lone salvia in the Secret Garden, surrounded by
colorful friends