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 pretense 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
grow and thrive. Patty the luckiest
petunia in the city.
