Plant sale is finally arrived. I am nothing but relieved. All that ‘it is what it is’ crap is finally coming to lameass fruition. (i’m not a fan of that phrase, it has no joy and the complacency doesn’t sit with my inner preteen. I do recognize its truth at times, but i resent it.)
I’ve got a long list written out on the table, of what to do this morning. Its just 6 am now, and i’m a little stunned as I look over at the table where the list is buried in blossoms, snacks, and mason jars. Muggy weather isn’t super fine when it comes to blossoms, so some of my bouquets will have to be freshened up.
Bouquets for $8? Even if they just have seven stems? Baby Beauty? The flowers given to me by my flower farmer, because no, I cannot have insanity like this in my own yard just yet.
The two farmers I work with and call friends are to be credited entirely with my having anything to offer at this sale. Extreme novices cannot be overly easy to work with and they are still speaking to me and wishing me well, all the time, so let it be known here and now: people who grow things for a living are special. No joke.
heavens to betsy.
Don’t you just crave to know who Betsy is? I do. I really do.
Wish me luck, friends. I’ll be back again before you know it.
—home! – likely tobe asleep in ten min
