Sunday, Jun. 09, 2002
Dear Diary:

We all like to feign nonchalance, but once Gail drops the checkered flag it's every gardener for herself. Fortunately this year there weren't any fisticuffs, but mark my words, it's just a matter of time.

You should never, ever mix liquor, gardeners and free plants, eh.

To you we may look like a bunch of gardening dweebs.  Trust me, when the plant exchange is on, we're pirhannas, eh. I would, of course, be talking about our little village's plant exchange. It's become an annual tradition thanks to my neighbour Gail, who generously hosts it at her charming place.

About 20 or so of us who showed up Sunday, each laden with a bottle of wine and various green goodies that were scattered over Gail's front lawn. Like vultures circling fresh kill, we all toured the offerings, making mental notes about what looked especially tasty.

As we waited for stragglers, we sipped wine. We gabbed. We pretended that there wasn't anything of any particular interest.

I loitered casually beside a red-leafed heuchera. I adore plants with red foliage.

I wanted it.

I wanted it bad.

I also had my eye on a tub o' shiny leafed hosta. I have a thing for hosta.

I wanted it.

I wanted it bad.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Finally Gail gave the all clear.

I lunged for the heuchera.

SCORE! I got it!

I looked over at the tub o' hosta. To my amazement, no one had laid claim to it. Clearly the liquor had kicked in and dulled everyone's finely honed gardening sense. I guessed that there were at least 50 plants that could be divided out of that packed clump.

I ... I ... I tried to be a generous soul and to not snatch it up whilst making growling sounds from deep in the back of my throat. No. Really. I did.

My resolve must have lasted oh, say, 5.2 seconds and then my Inner Gardener took over and that was it.

I'm ashamed to admit that I snatched the tub o' hosta, too.

In my favour, I would like to point out that at least I didn't growl, nor did I resort to violence. There was no shoving, kicking, biting or hair pulling.

But then, no one actually stood between me and the plants I wanted, either.

Okay, here's another mitigating factor for my pigginess. I also brought five bags worth of goodies that others got to rummage through, so that has to count for something too, right?

Right?

Oh, stop snickering. It's NOT an addiction. It's ... it's ... it's just a hobby. I could give up gardening in a heartbeat if I had to.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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