DOWN HOME: Abelias to zinnias: A planting parable

Since I've spent much of my adult life sitting at a keyboard writing words, you might expect I'm a big fan of Mark Twain. You'd be right.

Twain had his way with 'em. In fact, he was so terrific at turning phrases, folks still quote him, even though he died 102 years ago this week.

Here's one of my favorite Mark Twain observations: "The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter. It's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning."

That doesn't have much to do with this column except the little phrase "the difference between."

It's springtime, and I've been out in the flower beds, my hands covered in dirt, every weekend. And I've been wondering: What's the difference between a green thumb and a brown thumb?

Twain probably would say it's the gray matter between the gardener's ears. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure I'm not smart enough to garden. If you need a second opinion, ask my wife, Joanna, or Mary or Don down at our local landscaping shop. They'd probably agree.

See, I've got a love-hate relationship with flower beds. I love them. They hate me.

Actually, I'm pretty good with bushes. That's because, next to weeds, they're the most hardy, forgiving plants in soil. I like to let bushes grow large enough to offer aesthetic privacy around the yard, but not so large the place starts to look like a hermit lives inside.

We've got some abelias that wrap around the windows of our breakfast nook. Keeping them in balance is a trick. If they're just right, we can open the blinds and enjoy natural light when we eat meals. If they're too short, you feel like you might as well be eating out in the yard. And if they're too tall, you can imagine eating in a jungle. Once, my hedge-trimming zeal got the best of me, and I chopped 'em way down. But like a bad haircut, they just grew out, back to fullness.

The victory of spring is the resurrection of our pyracantha next to the garage. It's a warm-weather plant, but not a Texas-imitating-hell plant. So, the former pyracantha died last summer, and during winter, I thought the new plant was a goner. But it's greening up nicely.

Sadly, I can't say the same for the zinnias in the back yard. We bought two flats, plus too much mulch. I broke up the soil, spread the mulch, and we planted the zinnias. I expected a profusion of yellow flowers, but they look like props from a horror movie about lost love.

Best we can tell, the "aromatic" mulch is so thick, the flowers didn't get grounded in dirt. And so the little roots just burned up.

This reminds me of Jesus' parable of the sower, except he didn't describe seed that fell into too much manure. Still, our little problem offers an apt illustration of a spiritual truth: No matter how rich your environment, if you're not grounded in the Lord, you'll dry out and wither.