II. Writings From the Edge of the Apocalypse:Watching Humanity Lose it, One Lettuce Start at a Time.
Ya, I think we’re there.
March 23, 2020
Of all things, seeing the tables removed at the little cafe at The Garden Center brought COVID-19 home. With the need to socially distance, management felt the cafe was problematic and closed ‘er down. I almost burst into tears. Small things seem to be easier to comprehend than monumental ones, like people dying.
As I walked into the greenhouse something caught my attention and I turned my gaze towards the vegetables. It wasn’t what was there, begging my notice. It’s what wasn’t there. Lots and lots of no vegetables. Apparently vegetables starts are now on par with toilet paper because they were almost gone and everyone wanted them.
A perceptible uptick in buying had started early in the week. By Friday, federal taxes had been bumped out four months to July, freeing up or delaying payments to the government. The weather was also beautiful, but in this ideal setting uncertainty loomed large: what happens to gardening if we go into full, government mandated lock down?
Saturday on the edge of the apocalypse is what happens! Clearly people stuck at home found a way to unstuck themselves. By the time I went to lunch a line had formed to the cashier that ran the entire length of the xx foot long building. By the time I finished lunch, it ran that length and out into the greenhouse.
A somber mood descended as I picked up flat after empty flat and surveyed the barren tables. Watching the ‘old hands’ and the looks on their faces confirmed my unease. I felt I was watching a carcass being stripped to the bone in slow motion. How odd that having an extremely profitable day selling plants could feel so alarming.
The Garden Center has added the ability to order over the phone to the ways one can shop, and a companion service, curbside service, allowing concerned customers an added precaution from exposure. But how do you fill an order when someone’s request is only as specific as “please grab a four month supply of vegetables starts to feed a family of five.”
I like to whistle and often when I’m engaged in physical activity it starts all by itself. But as I started whistling Nessun Dorma, which is easier than Beethoven’s 5th because arias are easier to whistle than symphonies, it crossed my mind that maybe at this time it’s socially irresponsible to “pucker up and blow.” So I’ve stopped, and although it’s easy practicing social distancing in this massive greenhouse and the staff is constantly disinfecting all hard surfaces, I hold my breath when I pass people if they get too close to me.
Echoes of my ancestors float through my mind. My grandmother's first husband and first child died in the Spanish flu epidemic. That’s how I got my grand father and my mother. Weird to ponder, eh? And as I watch the purging of jobs across the country, the story of my paternal grandfather, who had the only job in his extended family during the Great Depression, is ever present as the loss of employment gets closer to home. Tomorrow I’m paying my daughter to weed the back yard after her store closed. I’ll be in the front working on the big rocks reclamation project, still.
The day whiles on. In the background always, the mechanical humming of the automated greenhouse can be heard, monitoring the air flow and temperature, opening the entire sides and the top of the building, keeping the plants safe. It’s a wonderful example of how clever humans can be, and although it has no conscience as it does its thing, it’s almost as if a presence has our back.
I have no idea how much longer the nursery and greenhouse will remain open, much less to the public. Considering the potential and enormous loss of what can fairly be considered a perishable product makes me want to howl. Those plants are my friends, after all.
©Theresa Elliott, All Rights Reserved
Kindred spirits using spoons to dish out candy. Part of the new normal.