Blunder Woman

It's easy to forget that part of learning is screwing something up. When I post here my first instinct is to find the most impressive things I can show off - something growing well, my chubby chickens, fruits and vegetables that are ready to eat. But the reality is that those moments are scattered between a series of screwups and disappointments. And if I'm meant to learn from these mistakes, well, it's time to own them. Here are some things I've gotten wrong so far this year.

I've had this beautiful blue pot for the better part of ten years now. Originally it was The Strawberry Pot, and I lovingly stuffed the little balconies with baby strawberry plants. I tended them eagerly, doted over them. They all died.

Disappointed but not to be deterred I tried again - it was now The Herb Pot. I was excited to pick out all of the different herbs I would grow, and I dreamed of the things I'd cook with the resulting flavours. We transplanted the new herbs, watered them attentively, waited eagerly. They all died.

When I moved I brought the ill-fated Herb Pot with me and, naively, told myself that I was ready to try again. The pot had to have a purpose, after all, and that meant that things must be able to grow in it. I was flushed with the success of my forays into the garden on my own and so, heart full of hope, I bought another batch of herbs from the local nursery. Parsley and oregano, basil, thyme, chives. I hoisted the pot (it's heavy, even without dirt in it) into place and snugged the new herbs into their places. I bought a water reserve device so that the ones that needed more constant attention would have a steady water supply in case my own occasional inattention was to blame.

I was the Queen of Cucumbers by this point. I'd grown actual corn. How could this not work out? These herbs had all of my love and attention. I was going to make this work this time! They were going to thrive!

Well. You've seen the picture up the top. You know how this ends. No matter what I tried my beloved herbs, one by one, died. And lest you think I can't grow herbs at all, my windowsill herb garden is currently thriving - it's just this damn, beautiful pot that kills everything it touches.

I'm also struggling to sprout my potatoes. It's one of those things that, if I was to think of Being A Gardener, I need to grow. Potatoes are a basic garden treasure. I had an empty bed just begging for something to go into it, and so I took the plunge: I bought a bag of seed potatoes and carefully read the directions on the packet. Sit them in the sun, it said. Bigger potatoes can be cut into pieces as long as they have an eye or two per piece, it said.

So... I chopped up my seed potatoes and sat them gently in an egg carton by the window.

Please excuse the theoretically ant-repelling talcum powder border there.

Well, in my defence, I did have my doubts about it, but I also knew that this was an area I was totally ignorant of. I decided to just follow the directions - after all, they must know what they're talking about, right?

I don't have a picture of the results. I was quick to throw the disgusting disaster into the trash when I realised what I had done. The cut edges shrivelled blackly. Some kind of teeny mite crawled over the boxes. There were no sprouts.

Potatoes 2.0 have been in the sun (well, what sun there is) for twelve days now and have shown no obvious signs of sprouting. Lengthy frustrated googling finally returned me an answer as to why they need to sit in the sun now and not the cupboard - we all know that potatoes in the dark sprout eyes, but those are apparently weak pathetic eyes. We need strong, hearty sun-grown eyes.

I am beginning to despair that any will grow at all, but I'm trusting the directions. They steered me wrong once before (or were a little poorly written, or I misinterpreted them) but this is still an area I know nothing about (except that you don't cut them up at the start) so... hopefully this goes better this time.