Plant Whatever Brings You Joy
By Kathyrn Hall
. . . The next Monday I drove my truck to a small white refrigerated building on her property where she had asked me to meet her head gardener, where I would be picking up the leftover flowers. I was expecting perhaps two or three buckets of sunflowers or maybe a few colorful bouquets. As I parked the car a friendly Mexican came out to greet me and pointed to about thirty large buckets of every conceivable color of rose you could imagine. Purple. Red. White. Pink. Yellow. Buckets and buckets of roses! “These??” I exclaimed. “Yes,” he responded, with a warm smile. My mind tried to grasp what he was telling me. Thirty buckets of roses. Longstemmed, huge roses. Stunned, I pushed my body into action as my mind tried to catch up to our good fortune, and packed the truck to the absolute brim with roses, barely leaving room for my two Border Collies in the front seat. I didn’t know if they would all fit. I managed, and I drove deliriously, headily down Hwy. 12 towards the nursing home, looking into the rear view mirror on occasion and seeing only my face framed by literally hundreds and hundreds of gorgeous fat roses, an almost surreal experience, my face beaming hugely in the mirror. The scent was overbearing.
I arrived at the nursing home, ran in and excitedly invited the head nurses outside. “Look!” They looked, stunned. Smiles slowly stretched across their faces as they realized what a gift we had been given. We searched everywhere for empty vases. We turned the front counter into an assembly line filling vases with roses and distributing them throughout the common rooms. People gathered around the front desk in various states of joy and disbelief. Every table in the dining room was burgeoning with fragrant roses. All around the front desk, all the tables in the entryway, the crafts rooms. My grandmother’s table next to her bed overflowed with radiant full red and white roses. What a joy! What a blessing!
The project became affectionately known as Cada Lunes. For the rest of that season . . . .