I do encounter the odd bump-in-the-road. Recently, for example, someone bolted the first big door after entering the secret garden; only much later, after other visitors couldn’t get in, did I realize what happened.
This year a lady sneaked her teeny Yorkie into the garden by stuffing it into her large, soft cloth purse. But because I was out there working, she couldn’t let it out. A few distressed yaps later the dog did his business inside it. She left in a hurry, red-faced!
Out-of-towners find parking difficult. When attending big festival events, they might, in desperation, park in my alley flowerbeds. One embarrassed lady snapped that I shouldn’t be growing plants in the alley, anyway. Well, she’s right, but I just can’t resist all that uninterrupted sunlight. One hopes for a modicum of courtesy and accomodation, though.
A few visitors wander deep into beds, taking close-up pictures, heedless of the fact that there are obvious, if unstated, boundaries. One fellow, looking perplexed, muttered, “Well, I saw no sign saying I couldn’t.”
There is one lady who always ignores the garden bell when she brings visitors. Through the kitchen window I once heard her comment to her friends; “Oh, that bell nonsense doesn’t pertain to me.” She’ll never know how hard it is for me not to trigger the overhead irrigation. But that would soak her guests, as well. The thing is, I really dislike being startled as I root around out there. The family inside appreciates hearing the bell, too.
Most do ring.
Last week I looked out the window to see a visitor crawling along through the rather long grass, looking through it intently. Clearly, she’d lost something. I gulped my meal and went out to help. “Hello! What’s happened?”
She was a little embarrassed. “Oh, my rubbing stone…I have a hole in my jacket pocket, and it fell out. I know it’s somewhere in here.” A rubbing stone? Seeing my confusion, she laughed. “It’s a little oval stone I like to rub, and fondle; my therapist suggested stone-rubbing instead of smoking whenever I get really tense; smoothing it actually helps me relax. I’ve had it for years, and am sort of attached to it. I haven’t located it walking around, so I thought of this.”
Ohhh kaay…
The two of us crawled around in my long grass, scanning. Nothing. Her voice rose as she became more anxious. “It has to be here!”
Minutes passed. We crawled. We peered. Still- no stone.
A man rang the bell, entered, and gaped at us, amazed. Laughing, I explained what we were doing. He looked around thoughtfully, then grinned. “You need the high ground.” He marched straight to the big bench, stood on it and scanned the grass sea, a section at a time. Then he pointed to a place far from where we were. “Check over there.”
The green-kneed woman rushed over to where the lawn met the border edging, laughed with delight, and held it up triumphantly.I’ve never seen anyone so relieved to be reunited with a stone!
I’m frequently asked if I ever get frustrated, or make mistakes. Oh, yes! Years ago I planted a sun-loving Baptisia in part shade; when I finally realized my mistake, transplanting it wasn’t possible. It would die. (Some plants, once settled, aren’t shiftable.) I’ve kept it in the wrong place as a reminder.
Houttuynia (whoever thought up that name should be dragged off by his eyebrows) is a ground cover with stunningly beautiful multicolored leaves- and another gleeful witness to my folly. Once it touches the earth, it multiplies endlessly. Immediately.
But I fell in love, didn’t do my homework, and popped it in. Two months later it was far too late to ever eradicate it.
These last twenty years have definitely been an adventure. The odd ‘uh-oh’- with people and plants- just adds flavor!