posted Thu, 02 Jun 2005
I called the garden mash note guy, Danny G. He asked me what the funny tall purple flowers were. Verbena. Could he have some, he asked. Sure – I yank ‘em out like weeds, I told him.
He offered me strawberries in exchange. I said that wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. A woman he had dated only a week and a half had given him the plants and they had proliferated. Well, OK.
Nobody with any gardening savvy pays for black-eyed Susan, evening primrose or lambs’ (lamb’s?) ear. They are like kittens: there is always someone who has some to give away.
He also told me about his two marriages and two divorces and gave me a lot more information than I really wanted. I didn’t realize that gardening is the real way to meet men -- multiple divorced, old serial-murderer men, but men. Who knew?
He showed up at my house about 6:00 in an old pickup truck. He was a big ol’ guy – looked like Santa Claus in overalls. Well, a middle-aged Santa in overalls.
He showered me with bedding plants: a dozen strawberries, 18 dusty millers, three castor beans (which are poisonous but no one ever suspects castor bean poisoning!), a moonflower, six hummingbird vines, five tomato seedlings, and six something I forgot.
So of course I felt I had to offer more than just a few verbena. He admired my shamrocks, so I gave him some of those. I really don’t have much more that is invasive or proliferating except for my black-eyed Susan and offering someone black-eyed Susan is almost like offering him dandelions. I mean, you can’t give that stuff away! My friend Holly begged me to take more when I was taking black-eyed Susan from her to get my garden started.
Still, just to be funny, I asked if he wanted some. “Sure!” he said. “I’ve tried to grow it from seed, but I can’t get it to take.”
He dug up a big shovelful, which was fine, but I noticed to my dismay that there was a huge hole left.
Not to worry. Any man who shows up bearing strawberry plants is not going to leave holes in a garden. He went to his truck and returned with a bucketful of dirt. “Prime potting soil,” he said. “The rest of your garden will be jealous.”
He gave me his email address, too, but I think I have enough information.