Last weekend I dug all my geranium plants out of the window boxes they had been growing in all summer and put them in Terra Cotta pots in the garage. 

This weekend, after giving their startled roots a chance to acclimate to their new, smaller confines I pruned them all into more manageable and “conducive to the indoors” sizes.

And just like always…

I hated to do it.

I often wonder why I love gardening so.

I’m not naturally cut out for it.

Truly I’m not.

I’m too attached. 

Too anxious.

Too kind.

Just call me the sympathetic gardener.

I detest pruning, dividing, transplanting.

If some brave little plant has succeeded in thriving where it’s at or found success in the shape it’s in I am so reluctant to come around and alter things.

But.

That is not gardening.

Real gardeners, all sympathy aside,

know what’s best for their plants.

And more often than not it involves a free hand with the pruning shears.

Sigh

What can you do...?

I did feel a little less “mean” after I had gathered up the all the snipped off flowers and put them in a vase, though.

Their blooms certainly are colorful.

And, I must admit, look a whole lot better on my dining room table than in the garage.