I really can't call myself a gardener.
After all, I only have about a dozen potted plants on my patios. Four of them are rose bushes, one is a fern, one is a succulent that hangs down from my balcony, one is a ficus tree, one is a peach tree that doesn't produce fruit, some impatiens, and a couple of miniature palm-like thingys that my neighbor gave me. Not quite enough street cred to embrace the title of "gardener." I water and feed the plants with Miracle Grow every once in a while, and hope I have the right plants for the amount of sunlight I get. I know very little about it all.
Miraculously, my plants grow and flowers bloom 85% of the time.
Everytime I see a new shoot, or a new flower, I am moved. Seriously moved on a cosmic, metaphysical and emotional level. There is something so miraculous and hopeful about new growth on a lovely plant. It gives me a sense of hope, a sense of continuity of time, and a peace in my soul that is difficult to explain.
Lately, I've noticed that I spontaneously talk to and encourage my plants when I see them. "You're doing great! Look at that. How pretty you are! Wow!"
Yes, I'm that guy. I've learned to just deal with it.
Of course, I'm also the guy that sometimes hangs stockings for my animals during the holiday season, and when my brother heard about it, he loudly rolled his eyes. Really. I could hear it over the telephone.
This is what I do know. Sometimes during that beginning or end of the day when I'm encouraging the plants or talking to my cats or giving them an old fashioned cuddle, my world is at peace and the crap is put where it belongs, in a box to deal with the next day, and I'm okay for a while.
I'm happy to be that guy.