HOE ... HOE ... HOE!
/
THE EQUIPMENT
“My hose doesn’t work,” I tell Mr. Wonderful. “Give it to me,” he says. For 20 minutes he unwinds, pulls, stretches, shakes, kicks, JesusChrists, and finally declares, “The water isn’t going through.” Really?
As I pick up the hose and walk toward the nearby garbage barrel, he shouts, “Don’t throw that away. It might work someday.”
While the dead hose rests in the garage awaiting a miraculous resurrection, Mr. W sees an irresistible ad on television — the Pocket Hose Silver Bullet lightweight, kink-free, expanding-and-shrinking 50-foot turbo-driven jet-nozzle hose for “only $29… plus a BONUS 50-foot hose for only pennies more.” We order it.
(FYI, the last item he ordered from a television ad were those Gucci-inspired faux-leather shoes manufactured in downtown Wuhan. Just sayin’.)
Our most recent email from the Silver Bullet folks indicates that the hoses “might arrive sometime before August.” (Currently, we’re doing CPR on the old hose in the garage while also praying for a cloudburst.)
THE NURSERIES.
Have you visited a garden shop lately to buy geraniums and bacopa? If not, you’re undoubtedly the only person in the state of Maine who hasn’t thronged with the horticultural hordes. I saw more people one morning at Herb’s in Kennebunk than I’d seen since February 1.
“Business is absolutely wild,” Snug Harbor owner Tony Elliott says. “People aren’t going anywhere now, it seems, except to their gardens,” adds Cheryl at Estabrook’s. “Never seen anything like this,” says Nick, proprietor of Herb’s.
Parking lots are crammed with cars, some even spilling onto the adjacent highway. Swarms of masked customers toting peck-size hanging baskets overflowing with pink and yellow petunias tiptoe around the lilac bushes, trying to keep a six-foot distance from you and your overloaded wagon brimming with delphiniums and daisies. Cash register lines are 20 deep.
It’s a hot mess. But here’s a potentially savvy tip: During the endless quarantine when video-conferencing with friends became the highpoint of our day, Mr. W decided that Zoom was a hot stock to buy. Me? I’m thinking Coast of Maine potting soil laced with lobster legs is a surer bet.
THE TRANSPLANTS
When we first moved into our Kennebunk Beach home 22 years ago, I plumped my new flower beds with sentimental hand-me-downs — Lady’s Mantle that once graced my mom’s gardens, variegated hosta my sister employed to edge her driveway, purple and white French irises that flourished in daughter Alex’s side beds.
When it came time to move, I couldn’t leave home without them. They wintered happily in my friend Amy’s spacious gardens. Two days ago I dug them up and transplanted to plots here beside our new home, adding astilbe generously donated by my gardening and golf pal Carol.
It’s been said, “The love of gardening is a seed once sown that never dies.” That, and the indescribable joy in knowing plants that once flowered in the backyards of people I love are now about to bloom anew in my garden. That’s happiness.
