Black Thumb

Colin and I are basking in the October sunshine at my parent's lakehouse this weekend. The weather is gorgeous here and I enjoy the quiet, peaceful moments on the back porch where all you hear is the wind in the trees and the soft music of the chimes hanging from the eaves. We went to town to Bentonville today and meandered slowly through the outdoor shops, spending the most time (and money) in a bookstore, of course. On our way back out to the house, as we passed a nearby apple orchard, I mused out loud to my husband "There's something about the idea of that life, tending an orchard, that appeals to me."

"HA," he snorted. "You do realize you'd have to water those. You always say you don't have a green thumb. Well, plants seem to think that you have the black thumb of death."

He can be so supportive.

He's right though. I'm not very good with plants. I forget to water them or forget to provide food or I leave them in open sunlight when the little plastic tab very clearly says they prefer shadows. For someone who can be very meticulous when I want to be, I'm completely thoughtless when it comes to green, growing things.

But I really do love them, even if I can't keep them alive. I love fresh flowers and the scents and soft textures of draping vines and the bright, round shapes of fresh fruits. I admitted to Colin I wouldn't so much want to tend the orchard as own it and then pick the fruit when it was ripe - I'd hire someone else to do the rest of the work.

"Oh wait, or I would like to own a flower shop." (He snorts again). No - I sigh, not with potted plants or any of that so I wouldn't have to keep them alive. Just big barrels of cut flowers of all kinds overflowing from the shelves.

Shop Exterior, Gunn's Florists
Brighton, England, UK

A place like this one - Gunn's Florist in Brighton which I passed one day as I was hunting for a tasty place for dinner with Mom (for those traveling to the UK on a GFD, I highly recommend Food for Friends). This store called to me from across the street - there were overflowing bushels of flowers crowded all over the floor and in bins up to the ceiling and spilling out of the open door into a large pyramid of flowers on the sidewalk. I found myself lamenting the complete lack of space at the hotel for a vase of off-white cabbage roses with soft pink tips.

Interior, Gunn's Florist
Brighton, England, UK

I would love to spend my entire day surrounded by such loveliness. I'm sure it's more complicated than I want to make it in my head but I envision days spent wrapping heaping handfuls of hydrangea into brown paper cones and gently insisting to male customers that red roses are not the best way to win your way out of the doghouse.

I know that there would also be anxious moments spent over calculators and spreadsheets figuring overhead and spoilage but in my heart I see myself in jeans, a soft cotton button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up and my hands buried in green, living things, chatting away with people and loving every minute of it.

Colin's still pretty sure, cut flowers or no, that I'd kill everything in my shop long before I had the chance to send it home with anyone. Ah well - it's still a pretty thought.