I am the anti-horticulturist. Plants and flowers come to my house to die. (no, I'm not trying to make potpourri) Every year I head down to the Minneapolis Farmer's market in May with eyes wide open. (I'm going to kick some Belinda and Bobby Jensen ass this year!) I have huge aspirations for my hanging baskets lasting through the summer with my watering, Miracle Gro and singing. (ok, no singing, more like begging, "you can do this, I only forgot to water you twice in the 90 degree heat, C'mon!, don't die on me!! please!!!")