It’s that time of year again. Spring is here. The sun is warm. Wool jackets and sweaters give way to cotton shorts and strappy sandals. And once again, as happens every spring, I have joined the millions of Americans who come down with spring fever.

And like so many others, I made my annual trek to the lawn and garden store. Full of sunshine and confidence -- sure that this will be the year that I will succeed, finally, with a garden.

Although I am a country girl, I just don't seem to have the knack for keeping plants alive. I did not inherit the green-thumb gene. My mother, God rest her soul, could make a rock bloom, and I have sisters who can do the same. Ever ashamed of my puny flowerbeds, each spring I try again. So off to the garden store I went.

Have you ever walked down the aisle in the plant department and had the feeling that the plants KNOW?

The first clue for me was the way they all seemed to duck down as I walked by. At first I wasn't sure I was really seeing it, so I whipped around quickly, trying to catch them in the act. I tell you, they were like football fans doing the wave!

I walked over to some young plants, thinking I would get a few to set out. I had my hand outstretched to take a couple of tender sprouts when the mother plant actually grabbed the young plant, put it behind her back and started lecturing it. Saying things like, "Don't ever do that again! That woman will kill you."

As I pushed my shopping cart down the rows of blooming beauties, I could hear them laughing. I could hear their frightened whispers. "Plant killer!" "Black thumb!" "Serial killer!"

How dare they ridicule me like that? I began to talk back to them under my breath. I wanted them to know how determined I am. This year I will prove to the plant world that I can be trusted. No plant will die under my watch. I will vigilantly weed and water. This year I will harvest my crop of tomatoes, cucumbers and bell peppers and have enough to share with my neighbors and friends.

I will cut beautiful flowers and arrange them artfully within my home. And if FTD runs short this year, they can call me.

It took some convincing, but I finally got some plants to go home with me. I left the store, proudly pushing my cart full of potting soil, mulch, cow manure, fertilizer and plants of every kind and color, honored to be entrusted with their nurture and care.

The weird thing is, the next morning one of my petunias was missing. I know I left the store with six petunia plants. Now there are only five.

My husband says he saw a petunia plant similar to the one I described running down the highway heading in the general direction of the garden store.

He claims he could hear it singing as it ran Beyonce Knowles' hit song, "I'm a survivor..."
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D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat.
 

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