Over the weekend, Anne and I went to Ballek’s Garden Center to buy a plant for the inside of the house and a planter for the outside. Anne goes there much more frequently than I do. And every time I go, I wonder why I don’t go more often.
As you drive up the winding gravel trail toward the barn and the store, the pasture to the left is full of cows peacefully grazing, barely interested in the cars that come and go all day. At the top of the trail, there are a few parking spaces to the left, directly in front of the store. But most people park to the right of the trail, at the edge of the field that extends out toward a distant tree line.
Before going into the store, Anne wanted to go into the barn. So, Eddie and I took the opportunity to wander in the field. Eddie proudly marked his turf and pranced happily through the grass, nose to the ground, taking in the scents and the history of the field. Just being in that field with him is worth the trip. His happiness is contagious. If he weren’t a nine-pound Chihuahua/French Bulldog mix, he might have been an equally happy Border Collie or Sheepdog.
After our wander, we went to rendezvous with Anne in the store.
While the store has the glass front doors you might expect to find on a store, there is precious little that is store-like about it. You might call it roughly organized or comfortably disorganized. The floor is a combination of quarry process and stone dust. Protective tom cats prowl seriously enough that I found it best to hold Eddie, lest he be mistaken for an unwanted interloper. As it turned out, there was one comfortable chair in which I could sit and Eddie could sit in my lap. The chair was right inside the glass doors and right next to the sales counter. That gave Eddie the opportunity to make friends with all who came and went, to the delight of all parties involved, especially Eddie.
Because the store is attached to the greenhouse, the air in the store is moist, heavy, and laden with a fragrance that’s more rich than sweet — earthy, fecund, and carrying the unmistakable suggestion of possibility. When Anne found everything she was looking for and came to the sales counter, she said to Eddie and me, “I love the smell in here.”
Eddie and I nodded but didn’t say anything. And all I could think was, “It smells like God.”
“carrying the unmistakable suggestion of possibility.”
This is how writers write.
❤️ Thank you, Charlotte.