“We split up the crew, and I went plant shopping, while the others stayed behind to prepare the beds. Pushing an uncooperative cart with goofy wheels, I clambered into the annuals greenhouse, with a stiff agenda. Color. Durability. Mostly full sun. Nothing wimpy. Al’s has an irrigation system, which goes off daily, but nothing is a sure bet. No plant runs, truly, on automatic pilot, not in a formal display garden. Whoever started this garden, hats off to them. I’m merely the inheriting gardener, who’s job it is, to figure out what’s going on. But they did many things right. My shopping trip had me walking in circles, imagining as I walked, what would fit, with what was already in place. I guess its an art. A managed art, with parameters defined by budget, and the season’s nuances of temperature, and moisture. The commercials checkout at Gardener’s Supply, has most recently been manned by workers dubbed “garden girls”, by my carpenter, who also spent years working with Sparky Potter, Grace’s dad, building amazing landscapes for rich, Mad River Valley folks. Small world, Vermont. They young women helping me, are timeless. They are cheerful, helpful, learning the ropes of the gardening world, and perhaps still trying to understand why so many plants, and materials, go flying out the door and into trucks, come May, and into June. They giggle and admire my business name, Gardenessa. “I’ll bet you hear some doozies”, I say. “Yes,” one agrees, while another chimes in: “Fairy Garden Mother” ... or is it “Queer Fairy Garden Tea Party”? I admit I’m really listening. I have a rather large responsibility ahead of me, to get things in the ground by 1 pm, when my crew is set to leave, due to other commitments. This is my first urban project, is we discount the barter I did in Davis Square, Somerville MA, when I bartered album design for a yard renovation. Some of my past is blurry, but I remember the apartment’s coffee machine, that kept me fed with high quality brew. My artist friend Rachel Mello took me to stone yards, & nurseries, & let me take a glimpse into her studio life, her neighborhood, & her world. People may not understand that creating landscapes, is not for the faint of heart. To do it well, means meeting people exactly where they are, and bringing some elevation, to their vision. It’s never about imposing a vision. So here we are, on our knees, on unforgiving pavement in places, dealing with trash, tricky sparse outlets of city water, navigating chain link fence, truck traffic, deafening fighter jets overhead. I can’t hear what my co-worker is saying. “What?” I yell? A police car with its siren on ten, is whizzing around cars, only five feet from where we’re working. A tractor trailer pulls his air horn, and I look up, only slowly realizing, he it trying to pull in, without crushing me. We joke, that this is our next level, zen path. When we’re done, and all the flowers watered in, it’s time for a late lunch. Many times, I don’t take stop for it, but this day allowed a 20 minute french fry, and milkshake extravaganza. Off-the-clock, we were just customers. ”After we ordered, someone told us to go outside”, Nikki says. “Then someone else, told us to go back inside,” Kenna says, “to pick up our order”. There’s some confusion. Where will the food appear? A woman stops to say how much she appreciates the gardens. I’m packing up the truck, biding my time. I save all the tags, and will go through them tonight, taking notes. I rarely relax, until I know that I’m done. Maybe I suffer from feeling I’m never done. Which is why it’s so refreshing to be here, with Nikki & Kenna, calling the day early, so that we can sit and debrief the funny parts of the day. I don’t feel like any heavy topic would be better served by my calling attention to it, right now. And so, it’s catsup, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Wow.”
