BUCKING THE SYSTEM: FROM HOUSE FIRE'S ASHES FLOWER GARDEN MAY BLOOM

After our house fire last year, Patrick and I decided we would redouble our efforts to grow things.

No, I'm not referring to children. Two is quite enough, thank you.

I'm talking about green stuff. Trees, shrubs, flowers, that sort of thing.

The first item we went after in our local home improvement center was grass. We needed it bad, because the few blades of grass in our front and back yards were held together by lots of weeds and some chalky-looking dirt.

We really made a great effort to be knowledgeable shoppers that first time. We read books and magazines and called in the department expert when it came time to make our purchases.

When we left our checking account was noticeably lighter, and we had a special type of grass that would do well in our shady front yard, and a different type of grass that promised in its packaging to flourish in our completely sunny backyard.

We bought extra-long water hoses with connecting spouts, sprinklers and stakes. Not only did we buy the watering materials, but we used them faithfully every morning and evening.

I mean, we went all out for our tiny patch of land, trying to make it look less like a yard and more like a lawn.

Our efforts paid off, except in those places where our contractors had thrown out materials and not bothered to pick them up for days or weeks. In those places, dirt and weeds continue to rule.

My next project didn't start until this spring. I got out in my front yard, determined to dig up at least two of the areas once considered flower beds. I worked diligently pulling out weeds and root after root after root. The roots weren't even connected to anything, and still I pulled.

Eventually, all of the roots (12 inches down, anyway) were gone, and I was able to move to my next project.

I had found a bunch of old bricks in our yard when we tilled it up to plant the grass. Inspired, I decided to use them to line my flower beds. My husband threw them in an old trash barrel, thinking I'd never do anything with the bricks.

But I didn't forget, and soon those old bricks were in place, killing some of the very grass I'd just grown. Time for the flowers!

I got a little tired at this point, so my research on the subject was just about nil. The only thing I knew for sure was I don't like annuals -- maybe because of my budget -- so I was looking for something I could hope to see the following year.

Because I don't have a green thumb, I also looked for items that would grow anywhere under any conditions with little additional effort. I looked for words like low-maintenance and hearty, words that intimated if I dropped it on the ground, it would grow.

Thank God for wildflowers! I didn't know they even sold wildflowers in the store, but I'm glad they do. If ever there was a flower that could be dropped and grow, it's a wildflower.

And so I planted wildflowers in my front yard. As I mentioned earlier, I lost my work ethic during this project, so aside from two bouts of guilt, the only water they've gotten has been from the many storms that have raged in our area this month. Even so, I'm seeing some sprouts, and one has even opened a really pretty yellow flower.

To my children I am now Mommy, Flower Woman. Jerry tells everybody he sees that his mommy grew a flower. And PJ, well, he's just itching to see if it tastes as good as it looks.

My husband, who pitched absolutely no effort in this particular project, hasn't even noticed my miracle flowers.

But wait until he gets the bill.

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.