Greenhouse Day Seven Red.

Dipladenia

I enter through the barn and walk past a big red generator- like fog machine almost the same color as the faded barn.  Greenhouses are toughest in March.  February is easy.    It is cold, it snows, it is winter. February is reliable, planned for; challenging, but expected. March is a beast. Labile. " In like a lion and out like a lamb", it can be the whole menagerie between the first and the thirty first of the month.

  As we watch for the red bellies of robins, each greenhouse gets filled in turn with fragile seedlings and eac  old, ugly red furnace is turned on to keep them warm.  Some days the big boxes chug away  to keep the wolves at bay, and some they hum along as the warm winds of spring blow in and the cardinals feast at the feeders.  We shed our coats and snow boots in favor of  bright red sweaters and  tee shirts or tank tops the color of Fireballs.  While we assemble, fill and plant in temperatures ranging from below zero to a balmy 70 we layer and unlayer over and over as the sun rises and sets in the sky above the milky plastic. 

The long red snakes of watering hoses are susceptible, too, to the dip and rise in the temperature. " Red sky at night, sailors delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning", the saying goes but in the greenhouses  delight and warning wax and wane as unpredictably  as a mad hatter in the month of March. Today, there is a delight waiting for me as I open the next door. 

  The dipladenia says hello with as much gusto as a Marilyn Monroe air kiss blowing across her fire engine red lips. Also called Rocktrumpet -  it is in full bloom, with big, open arm flowers and lush, deep green foliage.  There are more than a dozen of them and they are as beautiful as this magnificent, cold, crisp beginning of spring day. 

As I wander down the aisle, hoping for more color, I spot just a whisper of red peeking out from a begonia plant.  One single pedal as soft as velvet. 

Ah, red.  The first color in the ROYGBIV of the rainbow. There will be more as the month goes on; deep reds, bright reds, variegated reds, red so pale it is almost pink. 

The rhyme "roses are red, violets are blue, " pops into my head and I can feel the sweet, sweet promise of the other colors.  So many colors, so many flowers, so many beautiful things to celebrate.  Today, though, diplademia, not furnaces or fog machines or old red barns,  takes the trophy for red.

Greenhouse Day 6 Golden

I am sent the word for the day by a friend.  I open the text as the almost full moon is fading behind the horizon- pink and huge, gilded with the gold of sunrise on the far opposite side of the dome of sky that bridges from my east window to my west one. Amazing.  

Golden.  I wonder what the world will offer.  

I arrive in the Barn just after ten and there is a gaggle of workers huddled as though in a meeting.   I waltz down the isle and stop in my tracks.  Gold catches my eye. 

One single blossom.  The size of my a tea cup. Pure golden honey. Laced edges on a perfect stalk of green.  A closed bud behind it shouting  - "more to come, more to come." it is stunning.  

The day need not offer anything else.  I am content.  

Greenhouse Day 4 Onions and Leeks. Splendid.

"You will be trimming onions and leeks today."  the text says. 

I gather my tools, the sharpest snipper to make quick clean cuts, crates to work on and set up. 

When I work alone I carry my "personal listening device" which in my case is an old CD player and books on tape. No I-POD/PAD/Phone here. I put disk number 7 on and turn the volume up loud enough to be heard over the enormous exhaust fan. Louise Penny's Inspector Gamache will be keeping me company while I work. 

With the very first snip the pungent smell of onion punctures the air.  It is crisp and clean, smells as green as the tall spikey stalks look.  Vibrant. Splendid.

I fall into an easy rhythm; grab a pot, lift the spikes, swift clip with the snippers, toss the cuttings onto the rack, replace the pot and repeat. 

The sun rises higher in the sky and the greenhouse warms.  I shed two layers of shirts but keep them handy for when the fan cycles. 

It is a quick and easy task but there are a lot of them. Two CD discs later I am done.  

Before I go home, I waltz through The Big House to take in the splendor.. 

It is glorious.  It is always glorious.  Onions and leeks, begonia surfacing, marigolds being planted.   

See you tomorrow . 

Greenhouse Day 3 - Dirt

It is March and the heavy, wet smell of mud permeates our world here in upstate New York. My shoes  get sucked  down and make squish-squish sounds when I go to fill the bird feeders in the yard using up the last of the seed before spring takes full hold. I let the giant German Shepherd out and on his return he leaves  giant paw prints  on the tile floor of my kitchen. I sigh. Mud Season. 

 I crate the dog, and, as dawn lightens the sky, I put on my muck boots and head off to the greenhouse once again. I look at the car and the truck side by side  and jump in the car. Silly me.

I arrive later than the rest of the team and we shout and hug our hellos as I meander to the barn to find boss man and get my assignment. "Where do you want me to start?" I ask .  " Time to Tidy" he says referring to my post that I tidy the first hour of each day. I laugh.  I am still riding the high of yesterday's successful sort and pitch, purge and organize tasks so I smile and head off into the "office/lounge".

I go through the mixing room where a coworker is working  at the dirt station. " Only God Can Make Dirt."   That is what we say to one another when we run out of "dirt" to fill flats to plant flowers and vegetables and herbs. Mixing the God-made stuff with compost is a task that only the trained and experienced (and strong) are allowed to do.  It is a noisy endeavor as,  first, the two story monster machine  churns it out upstairs and drops it into a huge funnel that channels it into a shoot downstairs. The person filling opens the shoot  and the now mixed dirt is guided into containers of different sizes and shapes. It flows at such a rapid speed and volume that he or she must be quick with the controls or they will find themselves buried in the rich, fragrant mixture. Sean is attentive to his task, with ear buds in, and doesn't notice me as I slip into the back room to do mine.  

Now, as I said, I LOVE to tidy.  Love to bring order from chaos. Love to dig in the dirt that only God can make, but- that isn't the dirt I am digging in today. Today my time will be spent getting rid of dirt not making or mixing it. I will wipe and wash away the dirt of neglect, the dirt that creeps up on all of us, the dirt that gathers under our refrigerators and behind our radiators. It is a dirtier  kind of dirt; all of us have it- some of us more than others. At my house I have more than most and so I remind myself that dirt is dirt and there is joy in moving each kind, just a different kind of joy.   I don a pair of gloves and begin this task as enthusiastically as yesterday's but not expecting as big a return for my efforts. 

4 hours later I am once again delighted. Again, there is  order where there was chaos and light seeps in.  Again, there is a truck load of debris though this time no truck and no time to go get it. Disposal can wait for another day. 

In the mixing room there is a mountain of dirt that has been moved.  It has been evenly funneled into trays of four packs, quarts, half gallons and gallons  perfectly stacked and ready for the sowers to sow.

I jump back in the car and head home.  The mud season will last a bit longer, my own household dirt awaits, the new steam mop will get a paw print work out but tomorrow I get to come back to the greenhouse and dig in the dirt.  Which dirt? Who knows. Stay tuned. 

Greenhouse Day 2 - Embracing Tidy

I randomly pick the word "embrace" as my lens for today and I am thrilled.  I am a glass half full girl - an optimist at heart. I hear EMBRACE and I think of embracing only good things. Embrace beauty, joy, music, naps, smiles.  All of those things will greet me at the greenhouse I know, so I am bouncy heading off.  

I park and bounce down the muddy path and notice the pattern of snow against the shade house that is now covered in white plastic.  It looks like a row of bell curves and I think to myself - is the snow embracing the shade house or is the shade house embracing the snow? Not sure, but it is very cute. It won't last much longer, a very warm sun is shining. I will embrace it while it lasts and watch it morph into mud - something much harder to embrace. 

I open the screechy door to the big house excitedly because I have one hour each morning to tidy before being given an assignment.  I love tidying and plan to embrace it with enthusiasm. A greenhouse, to be successful, has to be orderly. This one is spectacularly orderly - except for the supplies.  Planting and watering and up-potting are critical tasks to be ready to open and tidying gets lost.  I wrap my arms around the task like a sweet smelling baby. Gloves on! 

Bringing order from chaos is a passion of mine and  I reassure the skeptics with the words "I KNOW GARBAGE , And I know what is not garbage."  It is terrifying to most people to let someone else decide what  stuff of theirs stays and what goes.  I tell them all to embrace the freedom of tidy and the fact that I will do it.  Take deep breaths  I tell them.  I dig in. It is fabulous fun. 

An hour in I stop and tell boss man I am going to get my full bed pick up and I will be back. 

Now order reigns on plants and on supplies.  It is glorious.

Day One in the Greenhouse

The driveway is easily passable having been cleared in anticipation of delivery trucks. The parking lot is muddy gravel and dirty snow. I pull in and look at the  huge lot filled with an enormous amount of empty.  It is bleak and would be disheartening if this was my first season here but I know that the milky plastic covered greenhouses are teaming with the promise of things to come.   

I slide open the giant door to "the big house" and it screeches it's need for greasing. The air is moist and welcoming, fragrant with the smell of dirt. I greet Pam with  a warm hug and admire the work she has done for the last few weeks. She is a veteran and her dexterous fingers can take the tiniest slip of a seedling and up-pot it without effort.  I am in awe of that gift. Laurie has it as well and will join us soon. I do not have it but I have other gifts to bring to this team effort. 

  This is my fourth season at the Botanical Garden and I have longed for this moment of return.  I take the time to soak in the magic that is a growing season. Two thirds of the greenhouse is still empty, waiting for warmer temperatures, but  the middle is filled with rows and rows of flats.  Order reigns.  Tall orange labels defining the group and the shorter, yellow or blue ones with plant names both tower above the green leaves that just barely crest the pots and will soon become fabulous foliage and beautiful blossoms. I breathe it in. 

I wander up to the oldest greenhouse on the property. It is a big, red barn that needs paint and the entrance is off putting at best. My eyes see It is as a junkyard of this and that covered in dust and dirt. The bossman sees it as a catologued trove of treasures at the ready. I think that it makes you wonder if you should even enter but only until you peek around the corner and see the tropical paradise that is the year round holding space.  Tiny buds bursting with color and orange blossoms as big as my fist catch my eye. Pans with perfect rows of almost imperceptible promise are lined up. They were planted by the bear  of a man with hands like mitts who owns this haven. I find it unimaginable that he can do this delicate work and yet he does. 

Season after season he and his team have  planted seeds, watered them, nurtured each plant -thousands and thousands of them, maybe millions. 

They have  started in bleak midwinter  and worked, doggedly, believing in the miracle of renewal because they have seen it before.  I believe too, and so I put on my garden gloves and begin to help. 

Spring is coming and so is a new series of posts at Quest House

It has been an age.  In the book of my life  some chapters are filled with writing and others - well, they are blank pages.
The last 2 months  I have been busily writing - but not sharing.
Today I returned to The Green House  and have decided to write the rebirth of spring as I see it each few days.
Please follow my journey.
Enjoy.
Bevelry