The garden centre that sucked me in to their
clearance sale the other day had a sign out yesterday saying LAST
CHANCE SALE. Last chance? Who are they fooling? These places will do
anything to coax and con nutty gardeners into buying one more plant.
Can’t fool me, I said to myself, but I stopped in anyway. Hey, I enjoy
the atmosphere, even if it isn’t a real nursery — only a tent they
stick up in the parking lot at the local plaza.
Of course, I did buy something; it doesn't seem right to hang around
and not do so. And you can't beat the prices. I picked up perennials at
four for a buck — amazing! They were seven dollars each a month ago.
There are no tags on them, so I'm not sure what they are, and I can't
identify them by their foliage, either, because it's kinda shrivelled,
but there are some green bits sticking up which means there’s life
still in them.
Hah! The price slashers at this particular garden centre don't seem to
realize that in the hands of a mad gardener these tiny scraps of green
will become huge luxurious plants by next season. What a challenge! And
if they don't survive, I'll have lost nothing because I'll still own
the pots (not that I need more pots when the shed is knee deep in them,
but I can always use the premium potting soil).
As I was paying for my purchases, I asked the person at the cash
register what they did with the leftovers when they finally do close
down for the season. She told me they toss them all in the garbage.
Being a curious type, I naturally asked where. She just smiled and took
my money.
I returned to the plaza the following day — I had to. I was determined
to see what they would do with the leftover plants when they closed up
and took the tent down. I couldn't believe they'd throw them in the
garbage, but if they did I was going to be there to rescue them. It
didn't look as though it was going to happen, though, because when I
arrived they’d changed the sign again. It now
read LAST
CHANCE SALE EXTENDED!
I hung around anyway, just in case, browsing until they began to give
me the subtle looks that told me it was time to leave, even though I'd
bought a limp lupine from the bargain table. Too bad it's in rough
shape, but if I can nurse it back to health, I'll keep it potted up and
use it to intimidate some of the poor performers I planted a month ago.
After that, I spent an hour or two casually wandering around the
parking lot, keeping one eye on the tent and the other on the mall
security guard. Earlier, he'd asked me what I was doing and I'd told
him I was an agent from the S.P.C.P. (Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Plants). I don't think he believed me, so I said I was only
joking and was actually trying to find my car, which meant I had to
keep moving to maintain the pretence of looking for it.
The parking lot is huge and I walked an awful long way. At first it was
fun trying to lose the security guard, but at four o'clock his shift
ended and a fresh guy took over — he could run too. By then the garden
place was closing for the day and it didn't look as though the tent
would be coming down, so I figured I'd better get out of there before I
was arrested. I went back to the garden centre this morning, but
instead of being chased around the parking lot again, I sat in the car
to watch — all day. Was it ever hot in there! I learned that I never
want to be a greenhouse worker.
But my patience paid off; I had a perfect view of the garden tent and
was ready when they finally closed up. At four o'clock, they took all
the benches and equipment out, including the trays of annuals that were
still not sold. They set them off to one side where I was able to keep
an eye on them. No way were they going into the dumpster if I could
help it. Shortly afterwards a truck arrived with a bunch of guys who
began to dismantle the tent. I felt awfully melancholy. It was like
watching the circus leave town.
They crammed everything onto the truck except for the plants. My hopes
shot up. I was ready. As soon as those plants went into the dumpster,
I'd swoop to the rescue. But then, at the last moment, one of the guys
picked up the trays and, instead of taking them to the dumpster, he
shoved them into the back of the truck. Then they drove away. I was
wild; a whole afternoon wasted getting
a free sauna that I didn't need. I took off after that truck. If they
were planning to dump the plants someplace else, I was going to be
there.
I tailed that truck all the way across town. I never let them get more
than half a block ahead of me. It wasn't easy; they were in a real
hurry and I had to run red lights to keep up. I could barely stay with
them.
It was crazy. We were tearing along the expressway when it happened.
Disaster! It was terrible. As the truck swung onto the exit ramp, the
rear door flew open and a tray of petunias flew out. I hit the brakes
but it was too late. I'll never forget the horrible sound and sickening
crunch as I ran over that
plastic tray.
I stopped the car, leapt out, and raced back to find soil and plants
scattered across two lanes of heavy traffic. Botanical road kill! It
was hopeless, every bit of vegetation crushed beyond recognition. I
felt so sad, especially since I felt partially responsible. If I hadn't
been chasing the truck, it might not have happened. But when I
remembered the plants were probably headed for the
Garbage dump, I felt much better.
Regardless, I had tears in my eyes as I returned to my car thinking
what an awful waste. That was when I spotted it — almost buried in the
flotsam of the hard shoulder — one little petunia. My heart leapt! A
miracle. Except for a little shredding around the edges it had survived
the crash unharmed. I carefully picked it up and placed it in a
discarded coffee cup and for once, I actually blessed someone for
littering. I took the cup and reverently set it in the cup holder, then
drove home slowly and safely — a little too slowly; I got a ticket for
obstructing traffic, but it was worth it. I saved a life.
I have Patty here now (that's her name — Patty), beside me as I write.
Today I'm going to find the perfect place in the garden where she can
grow
and thrive. Patty, the luckiest petunia in the city.
