Besides the marigolds
Another day. Another city. Another greenhouse! This is the season of hopes and wishes, where a small flower will, hopefully, grow into something bigger than imagined.
I have to admit it; inside a big hothouse full of flowers smells pretty good. I mean, besides the marigolds, which are beyond help. Instead, go stand down by the begonia beds. Isn’t that better than almost anything else? I’d fill my garden with them, except that I’m not in charge of colour planning.
We have a neighbour, and her part-time career is flogging petals to the needy. So many people, in search of the perfect garden. Growing from seed is foolhardy in a northern climes, so we rely on the commercial growers. In our case, we filled the back of the car before heading home to continue the effort of embellishment.
We also had lunch, and we visited with family (quite by accident, actually). In town for a medical appointment, and seeing a cousin across the way as we left the building. Visit required. Not to interfere with the lunch breaks of the gainfully employed; we headed off to our favourite café right after the catching up session.
In the city, incidentally, things seem greener than here at home. They’re ahead by a few days on the seasons, I suspect. Lots of tulips.
I spent a few minutes looking at the latest BBQ models. So much cast iron, at a price that reminds me I’d have to give up eating food if I bought that big monster at the end of the row. Seriously. When did the $250 food burner morph into something worth $2500? Is that the true index of inflation?
