Tag Archives: gardener

1930. A brief (and silly) floral reflection

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Willow knew a thing or two about gardening. In fact, Willow had taken night school classes in horticulture over a six week period; two hours each week at the local high school.

Willow’s friend was Michelle. Michelle didn’t have a clue about gardening but would go into her garden and plant things, and pull out weeds, and water this and that.

“I don’t have a clue what most of the flowers are called,” said Michelle, “but I know that they are very pretty.”

“You should go to night school like I did,” said Willow. “That way you’d learn something and be an expert and become a better gardener.”

“Look at these lovely crocuses!” exclaimed Michelle. “They flower in the Fall. They are different from the ones that flower in the Spring.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Willow. “Crocuses flower in the Spring. They are one of the first flowers to make an appearance after Winter. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh how shallow it is to be a night-school-class graduate-in-horticulture-over-a-six-week-period! Those who know everything know nothing. Willow knew it all. She had nothing in her garden. Michelle knew nothing. Her garden was a picture.

The End.

[I know some of you will be disappointed in the lack of excitement in today’s yarn. For those who prefer something spicier, here is an alternative ending:

Willow was consumed by jealousy over Michelle’s beautiful garden. After a friendly salad luncheon at Michelle’s place, Willow suddenly opened her purse and pulled out a pistol. She pulled the trigger and Michelle slumped to the ground. As Michelle lay dying she was heard to exclaim, “Ha! Ha! Ha! I poisoned the salad!”]

1580. The naked gardener

Tresnor liked to garden in the nude. She’d always done it. Her parents gardened in the nude, and since she was a wee toddler Tresnor had followed suit. There was a certain freedom! A oneness with nature! It was healthy! It was what tribal ancestors did eons ago! No one got hurt! It was perfectly harmless!

Only once did Tresnor get scratched, and that was when she was pruning a rose bush and she stepped back into the prickly pear cactus. She scratched the back of her leg, and after that, when she was pruning roses, she always wore long socks.

To be honest, a naked person pruning roses next to a prickly pear and wearing long socks is a sight to behold, but Tresnor didn’t mind. There was no one watching through her high fence.

These days, she is older, but she still gardens in the nude. There are no roses to prune, so the long socks have been dispensed with. And on a coldish day she forgoes gardening altogether. There’s no need really to get chilly unnecessarily. But on a sunny day she’s out there weeding and cutting back even though it wouldn’t matter if the garden got a little overgrown. Besides, the retirement village has a permanent gardener to care for the community garden.

973. Mrs Brussels Sprout’s day

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Today was the day Mrs Brussels Sprout had looked forward to all her life. It was Harvest Day!

For months – and all through the cold winter – she had worked hard to produce twenty or thirty babies. Under each leaf nodule a baby had sprouted. She had quite lost count.

“Today, children,” said Mrs Brussels Sprout to her brood, “should be the proudest day of your life. The very reason for our being planted, the very reason for our existence, is about to be fulfilled. It is the climax of our dreams; the apex of our desires. When the gardener comes along and cuts us down, we will be ready to be steamed and sauced. Rejoice, O little ones! Rejoice!”

“Oh happy day!” sang the little Brussels Sprouts. “Oh happy day!”

“Here comes the gardener now,” called out Mrs Brussels Sprout. “He’s going to cut off my head. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HELP! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RUN CHILDREN! RUN!”