Saturday, February 17, 2018

It seems very safe to me to be surrounded by green growing things and water.

Barbara Kingsolver

I’m on my way home, weary and spent, thinking about a botanical garden not far from where we lived in Washington State and wishing I could go there. There would be no snow and, while it might be raining, I could still walk among the greenery (oh, the Pacific Northwest greenery) and be soothed.

There’s nothing like that here though, and even if there was, it would be under cover of snow, and the ice that’s everywhere right now would make walking hazardous. Besides, it’s cold and I don’t like cold.

An alternative comes to mind. I turn left.

I walk through the front doors into the nursery like a sojourner returning home. I wander through the floral department and admire roses (likely remnants from a Valentine’s Day sale) and other pretty arrangements, but they are not my destination.

I make my way past the clothing department, noticing that everything is marked down to half price. I walk on.

Finally, my destination appears in front of me, the glass door propped open welcomes me.

The greenhouse.

Even in its winter disarray it’s lovely. Even though it’s mostly filled with garden decor and tools and hot tubs, it’s soothing. I wander up and down the few aisles of plants and admire the beauty of the offerings. Peace washes over me.

In time, I return to the main store and head to the gardening section where an impressive array of seeds are displayed. One day, but not this day, I will lose myself in these shelves as I plan for this year’s garden. This day I feel a call to the greenhouse and so I return.

I considering purchasing a plant but decide against it. I don’t care for houseplants as a rule, and I know that a single plant in my window will not delight me in the same way that this place does.

And so I wander, lost in thought, past plants and garden whimsy knowing that the seasons change and that for now this moment is enough.

And it is well.