The gardening snowball effect- shopping center plant rescue

I was talking tonight with an angel friend of mine and sharing this update with her, and i randomly said, "Maybe this gardening thing is really some sort of therapy for me." She, being wise and NOT ME, said, "Ya think?"

The community garden (CG)benefited greatly from the shopping center haul. I mentioned this upcoming event in a previous blog and I am here to say that the experience has created a snowball effect in my gardening. I am NOT a landscaper. I am a planter. i plant. I weed. I get plants and plant them. That's it. No guarantees. This task of planting hurts my back, but it heals my heart. Yoga helps the back, so it all balances out.


I mentioned an important date. The day the landscapers change out the plants at the shopping center. The day came.

I was at the shopping center at 7am. No landscapers. I ordered breakfast in the restaurant where the manager first told me about the changing of the plants. Still no trucks. There I sat in my work clothes, in wait. Suddenly, one, then two, then several more trucks began to pull into the center parking lot. Men got out. Men pulled plants out of pots. They were at the other end of the lot from where I was, and time was short. I drove over and asked if they were pulling plants today and they said, yes. I asked what would happen to the plants, and they said they were dumping them in the truck and carting them off. I asked if I could have them when they were thrown away and they said, what did I want? I said, caladiums and ferns. They said, with a handfull of irritation in their voices that it would be a while before they got to those. Then,.....then....I said the magic words. "Well, actually, I have a pitchfork in the trunk of my car, I can dig them myself."

You would have thought I was the dentist saying, "No cavities!"

The men finally smiled at me and said with a little bit of caffeinated enthusiasm" Have at it, take what you want! It's less work for us!! Have at it sister!!"

I drove back to the restaurant where the staff was waiting for the trucks, and held up my pitchfork. "He said we could DIG!!" Well, they pulled boxes out of mid air and I shared my pitchfork and, like Edward Scissorhands, we cleaned out those pots in seconds. The manager asked for my information so she could call me in the spring because it was so much fun.

I toured the rest of the center and by 8:30, I had a literal jungle residing in my car. My little VW cabrio had elephant ears hanging out the window, ferns, caladiums, two trees that looked like lantana, and multiple mystery plants stuffed in every spare corner. There were leaves and stems dragging the street like when you close your coat in the car door. It was Fabulous, I tell you. A traveling nursery. With the radio blaring, I sounded like a modern day icecream truck only with plants.

Well, my boss shopped from the car, as did co workers. Several people wondered how I would ever get the dirt out, but i wasn't worried. Even though I had put the goodies in bags, the dirt escaped with fervor. There were inches of dirt in the seat, on the dash, and on the floor. My only concern was knowing my convertible top had a leak, and if we had rain before I could clear out my inventory, well, I admit I was a little concerned about rooting plants in the floorboards of my vehicle. A novel idea, but not one I really wanted to see up close and personal.

In two days' time, the plants were transferred to new dirt. I have maybe a hundred caladium bulbs sleeping on newspaper in my green room. along with a tree hoping to live long enough for me to give it to one of my daughters for Christmas. The rest are in the community garden, my gardenette, and at co workers' houses, and home church friends' houses. Isn't that neat?

The gift that keeps on giving. Dirty, in a good way. Something happened that day, coupled with the growing pleasure of working the community garden, I was finding community through sharing plants, and I was feeding my problem solving hankering by figuring out how to find plants that I needed and connecting the needs of others - a plant switchboard sort of. It became theraputic for me.

Usually, I refer to therapy to therapuke because if you are really doing the hard work therapy requires, it feels puky. But this therapy had no puke in it. Just dirt.

Bulbs for Easter

My boss is a creative lunatic. He dreams up ideas that blow us all away, once we can understand the concepts. As long as I've been working for him, I have known this to be true. I've written of several instances where he's given us crumbs from an idea he's in the midst of creating, and although it is a wonderful thing to brainstorm, it is a near impossible task when you are brainstorming with a category 5 hurricane.

This year, he decided that giving the congregation bulbs to plant would be a good tactile/visual lesson on how we are growing in our faith... Greater things God can do with us -for us- at us..... and he thought if every member planted their bulbs, they could bring their flowers on Easter Sunday and Woah Baby!! We'd have SOME floral cross that day, sister!! The idea is brilliant. Amazing. Lovely. True to his talent. ...but as I sat next to him listening, a tiny centipede of reality began crawling around my head. " What if people don't plant their bulbs? What if only 3 people plant their bulbs and they don't grow? What if we have a flowerless cross? What kind of Easter would that be?" said my centipede realist. So I suggested that we order extras and I'd plant them in front of the church so we could use them if we needed them. He gave me the okay. I envisioned a lovely wave of yellow daffodils welcoming Easter morning.


I asked the landscapers to till narrow beds that ran in front of the bushes and they did, thank gosh. I looked at the newly turned dirt and felt sad that we couldn't have a little color to let us know Easter was coming. A little pre-bloom. So, I ordered 200 crocus bulbs as well.

One Friday, I put on my farmer -me overalls and planted the beds.

I invited the Wee Care preschool kids to help me plant the crocuses. I explained to the enthusiastic three year olds that bulbs had tops and bottoms just like us. Their bottoms are bigger like us, too and they wear special underwear that feels like paper. They want to reach for the sun so they point up. They need the same things we do to live- food, water, and love. Their food comes from the dirt, the sun and the rain. They were able farmers and helped. Some of the crocuses will be greeting the spring mornings from the tilled up beds, and some will be springing forth from the bushes and the grass. I figure Mother Nature is random, and who understands that better than a 3 year old, right?


700 bulbs later, my fingernails were unrecognizable and I had bonded with the dirt. My being was benefiting from the spiritual connection with nature. I stood and looked at the beds and thought what it might look like in the spring. hmmm. something was missing. The crocus bulbs had run out . I needed to order more. No. there was more going on here...Suddenly, the color left my sight and the grounds looked a little dull. Everything looked black and white.

I walked around and went to the corner where the brick church sign sits. That poor sign is the welcoming invite to all who drive by. "Come in!!" it beacons. But the brick stands alone. A sad semi circle of pine straw sits at its base, a flat and brown audience. sighhhh.

I went back inside and ordered more bulbs and then I ordered some special flowers just for the sign.
I thought about what I would like if I were standing on a corner waving people into my house and I ordered tiger iris, mixed daffodils, crocus and Fall crocus with a few delicate drippy white bell flowers to tuck into the corners. There. That is better. whew. Now, all I have to is wait.