“When they predict thunderstorms, you don’t really know although some track the progress of storms, but I usually don’t. I’ll leave only select windows open, perhaps ... make sure nothing’s left vulnerable, like computers, or the mower, or seedlings on the porch... but in general, it’s just another day. It was a hot one from the start, so I drove first to Gardener’s Supply to pick up fertilizer, stakes, a few odds & ends. The cashier was in a jolly mood. “Did you ever watch Tom & Jerry?” he said, as I pulled out my plastic, to ring up the sale. I played along. “Well, yes, a long time ago...” I countered, not really knowing where the conversation was going. I thought of myself sitting in front of a T.V., age five. He continued, with a play-by-play, of some episode, I couldn’t really follow, nor find relevant, but I guessed at the appropriate time to laugh, and guessed right. It was a treat, to be entertained by a truly odd cashier, with a deep sense of the absurd. This is what we miss out on, when we shop at Amazon. Wheeling my cart out to the truck, I felt lucky to be an entrepreneur. Built into my free-wheeling everyday, were chance encounters, such as these. It cushioned my next step: staking peonies, in front of an ancient, original fast food restaurant, in South Burlington. I thought I’d left time enough, to avoid customers, but the day had gotten away from me. With every staged step of my gardening operation, by 11 am, I was in full few of people sitting in booths, eating french fries. Twine, scissors, stakes, a few hand tools to pick out offending weeds, and I was in full performance mode. With a baseball cap pulled down to obscure most of my face, I proceeded to embrace the entertainment value, of my work. I glimpsed up now and then, and once noticed an elderly patron, sitting with her husband at lunch, and imagined that my simple hand work might be resonating with something in her past. I think this is the grace & import, of public gardens. No, not a fancy botanical garden you pay to go into, but one viewed from behind picture windows, with a hamburger, and a chocolate shake. We can’t know what memories people have, of gardens, or grandmothers; memories that touch the core of what home is or was, and what care is, or was. I felt stupid, moving my phone along with me, as if the digital intrusion were obscene. The trucks, the jets, it was all the noise of reality, at this place, and my audio book would have to wait. One man parked himself on a picnic table nearby, and as I packed up, said “Good day for an ice cream cone!”. I was charmed by this simple statement of fact. “Totally!” was all I could think of to say, as I passed him, to load my truck and move on. Next stop: “Horsford’s”, a plant nursery, nestled in the valley, not far from Lake Champlain. Two clients to shop for, and I knew the visit would take some time. I had a mission to find shrubs under five feet, yet beautiful, and able to sit in water, and also perennials to fill areas in gardens far afield, in need of color. I parked my truck in the dusty lot. Thunderheads were gathering, I did notice, but again, I kept on task, and wandered around reading tags, and getting ideas. By the time I made it to the ferns in a shade tent, and row W where the asters were stowed, I was rushing a little, not wanting to be caught in the rain. I quickly checked out, and covered my plants with burlap, and put my windows up, reluctantly, still enjoying the humid, hot air rushing in, willy-nilly. I decided to stick to the back roads, home. I knew the way, and if something hit, I’d be able to go slowly, and carefully make my way back up the mountain. I didn’t expect, actually, to get caught in a super cell. I started to zone out, as the rain pounded, in shifts, blinding at times, but navigation within an hour of home should not be rocket science. Finally, I stopped the truck, inching forward to a place with fewer trees and power lines. You would think a newly plowed farm field would be safe, but the winds were suddenly shaking my truck, in park, and the few trees on the opposite side of the road, were beginning to lose branches. As I sat, something hit the truck. I froze a little inside, and say to myself “Hey. This is not good”. The farm ditch to my left was becoming a raging torrent, and starting to crest its banks, entering the dirt roadway. “Hmm”, I thought. “Is this a tornado?” I thought about using my phone to find out, but couldn’t in my present state of anxiety, imagine which app to access for information. A couple cars passed me, but immediately put flashers on, and pulled off. There wasn’t really anywhere to run. It was a case of hunker down in your vehicle. Visibility became zero. Then the hail, and finally, a slight cessation of wind. I was alone, and the water was rising on the road. So I made a run for it, not wanting to be swept into some weird flash flood situation. I made it to the other side of catastrophe, and without having to cross a downed power line, or anything scarier than a branch. And by the time I got to Bristol, things seemed normal. Chalk it up to that yellow blob on the radar, which I was able to see after the fact, on Wunderground. A severe storm had just decided to cross me, I could see, it was clearly evident, and I was a survivor. This is how it is here on planet earth. On so many levels, and in so many ways.”