We fancy ourselves gardeners. We have this running joke. We show people our thumb and ask what color is that? They say a normal color that would describe human skin. We retort: “That baby’s green. It’s a green thumb.”

No, no. We don’t actually do that. It would be terrible and stupid. We are neither terrible nor stupid.

We do enjoy growing plants. The toiling away picking weeds, laying mulch and watering is therapeutic. The eventual fruits—the hot peppers, the flowers, the literal fruits—fill us with a sense of accomplishment.

Gardening is a gratifying hobby. But we have an obsessive streak. Outside by itself no longer satiates us. We’ve brought our garden inside with this Socker Plant Stand from IKEA. It holds 13 pots. Impatiens do well because they prefer shade.