Dorothy's Garden

I have the dreaded black thumb of gardening. Even easy-care houseplants just curl up and die when they see me coming. I don't know why this is; genetically I should be a gardening genius. My grandparents grew enough food to feed developing nations. My uncle grows finicky, prize winning orchids. Even my sister, whose idea of outdoor activity is Shopping Downtown, grows beautiful dahlias. But in me, apparently the gene that allows me to be the only one in the family to keep the clock from permanently flashing 12:00 has squeezed out the gardening talent.


My point? This is the lovely garden that Dorothy cultivated for 60 years. How long do we think it will take me to destroy it?