Along with my shortcomings in the housework department, I will have to confess that I’ve always been a pretty pitiful gardener as well. By the time you are reading this, however, I plan to have that little part of my being repaired. Since I believe that anything can be accomplished with a gifted teacher and a willing student, I am taking gardening classes at our local Junior College. Originally, I had planned to take the Master Gardener class, but thought that I might start small, since I’ve never so much as kept a houseplant alive for more than a couple of weeks. But, I am teachable.
Years ago, I wrote a fictional short story that had me in my luscious garden, decked out in a big, white, floppy hat, floral gardening gloves, and cute little plastic garden clogs (I always start with the outfit…I just think that it sets the stage for a good story). Here’s a piece of that fictional tale:
That morning, I spent an hour or so in the garden, putting the finishing touches on my fall flowers, wanting everything to look just so for the party weekend. My red spider lilies had returned year after year, I suppose, since the house was built in 1907. They are my favorites- so reminiscent of days gone by. I also love marigolds, and planted them in hoards, ushering in the fall days with their golds and oranges. I had a beautiful stand of sweet autumn clematis in the south garden.
Oh my gosh, I am giggling here, thinking of a most inappropriate story. Since we are friends, I’ll go ahead and tell you. If you are easily offended, just skip over this part and start thinking about the beautiful Angel’s Trumpet that is planted in the side yard (of my fictional garden).
For those of you who are stout of heart, I’ll tell you the tale. I cannot think of clematis without thinking of my cousin, Tori, and her faux pas, right there in the garden center in Lufkin, Texas with her very proper mother, my Aunt Inez. Tori is a real churchy woman, which makes this even better, I think.
Well, she and Aunt Inez were at the little nursery in their small east Texas town, buying plants for Tori’s new yard. They made good friends with the owner, and were chatting it up; Tori displaying her vast knowledge of plants that grow there in that rich East Texas soil.
As the conversation was coming to a close, Tori extended a lovely invitation to the nursery man. “When you are out our way, stop by and see my beautiful clitoris.” Aunt Inez (a nurse) almost passed out, making faces and hand gestures, trying to shut Tori up. Not realizing her faux pas, Tori continued to extoll the beauty of her clitoris, how it just kept blooming and blooming, and how people came from miles around to admire it. She noticed that the nursery man got a funny look on his face, but she just chalked it up to his interest in her vine.
Well, when they got to the car, Aunt Inez let her have it! Tori still blushes when anyone brings up her climbing vine! (And let me assure you, that I bring it up every time I get a chance – I’m sweet like that).
Even though I am not as good with plants as Tori, I am pretty good with words. I plan to practice all of the names of all of the plants in my garden before I talk to anybody about them. No sausage trees or pussywillows for me. I’m a good Christian woman.
“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet”
– Romeo and Juliet