Spring is emerging which brings on the desire for planting. Yesterday the temperatures rose into the 80’s, a little too warm for my taste, but it set off the urge to go to the local garden center.
I texted a friend about caladium bulbs. I am no expert gardener, so I depend on advice from those who are. Jenny came over Saturday morning with a yellow legal pad (she’s a lawyer) with a list of all the varieties that Hebert’s (pronounced A-bears) had gotten in just Friday. Apparently, you have to buy them early or they run out.
I am an impulse buyer when it comes to plants. I usually just go to the garden center and see what looks good. But Jenny had her list, had scouted Hebert’s to see what varieties they had, and pulled up the images on her phone. Good thing, too, because there is no way to know what you’re getting by looking at them. The boxes were big and full of wood shavings with bulbs buried deep inside. Each box was marked with the name of the variety, but what’s in a name like Postman Joyner or Carolyn Whorton? It was necessary to have a reference librarian like Jenny and her phone to know what we were buying.
Hebert’s was busy, busy. Everyone was drawn in by the warm weather and the urgency to clean out all the dead plants of winter. Ready to move on to spring. There was an atmosphere of joy. We ran into another friend who was chatting happily about her vaccine. We compared stories and for the most part, our little town has rolled out vaccinations pretty quickly and efficiently. For that we are all grateful.
On returning home, I was inspired to make a potting station near my back door. It’s been an area of dumping, where I’ve thrown dying plants, extra pots, bags of dirt, etc. So I found an old wrought iron shelf in the shed and organized it with garden tools, pots of seeds, herbs, gloves, fertilizer. I am very pleased with this project and feel I am ready to be a gardener, a wish I’ve had for a long time. Finally nearing the age of 60, I’ve figured I can make happen what I desire to happen. It’s never too late. Why wait?
Reflections on the Teche 