Traverse City Record-Eagle

Dee Blair: The View From Sunnybank

Related Photos

  • Dee Blair

    CSS207.jpg
April 17, 2011

View From Sunnybank: Odd souls

By DEE BLAIR Local Columnist

Editor's note: Dee Blair is off on an adventure that she will write about soon. Meanwhile, this column originally ran in 2006.

Sunnybank Garden welcomes many visitors. Sometimes, though, I encounter some truly strange folks.

One spring morning a few seasons ago an elderly lady visited. She moved confidently along the path, her bulky, expensive coat enveloping her small, slightly bent body, her white hair a halo of soft waves that framed her face in the spring sun.

We exchanged smiles, and I got on with my weeding. A bit later, glancing her way, my disbelieving eyes beheld her calmly wielding a trowel, digging up flowers. I watched with astonished fascination as she opened her coat (baggies were arranged in rows along the front interior panel) to gently insert each cheerful little annual flower, dirt and all.

Stunned, I noticed that, as she wasn't in the least furtive, this soul might be nuttier than a squirrel's breath ...

I put down my hoe, and walked steadily toward her. She straightened up, brushing off her hands, seeming prepared to chat about the lovely morning. It was surreal.

I took a deep breath, looked into those alert eyes, and asked her what she thought she was doing.

She looked annoyed, and then, her face clearing, said, "Choosing, of course. Any fool can see that."

"But," I said, more forcefully, "you're stealing!"

She looked me full in the face. "I want them. You don't need them, as you have far too many. I like taking mementos, and I have the perfect spot. Learn to share."

Hmmm ... I pondered what to do. There was nothing in gardening advice books to help me with this. She looked straight at me, and I looked back, and finally, she dropped her eyes. Aha! She knew this was wrong!

Deciding suddenly, I turned her around, placed my hands on her shoulders and propelled her, unresisting, out to the sidewalk, then turned her around to face me.

"You're not welcome at Sunnybank, madam. And," I added, quietly, "Most gardeners are happy to share their flowers. All you had to do was ask."

She sniffed, shrugged me off, and walked briskly to a posh car, careful not to injure what she'd collected. I stood there, still too amazed to process this properly. She drove off serenely.

Another time, four elegantly dressed middle-aged ladies showed up very early and rattled the locked gate, demanding admittance. Before I could respond they snapped that they'd come too far to be "put off by a menial gardener!" (Clad in baggy, ancient coveralls, with a twiggy, rumpled thatch of hair and dirt-smudged cheeks, I was unimpressive.) I should be fired, they chorused indignantly, for my behavior.

Sunnybank's a private garden, I reminded them quietly, and they'd be welcome when I cleared the paths of hoses, tools, weeds, and me, about 9 o'clock.

Incredulous, they stomped off, buzzing that they should ring the doorbell and complain to the owner about "that idiot!" Their voices cut into the clear morning air like flies at a picnic. I stood bemused for a little space, then carried on, wondering if they'd return. (They did, striding in about 10:30 a.m. and remaining a good while, gesticulating vigorously. I stayed out of sight.)

Recently one gentleman with a large, wonderfully expressive moustache insisted I had "misrepresented" a plant, and didn't have a clue what it was. He knew, though. Nothing would convince him I knew what I'd planted ... I decided it would cost me nothing to simply agree that he might be right. It made him happy; he harrumphed triumphantly and left, back erect, eyes flashing.

These odd souls are the salt and pepper of my day, reminding me that people are always interesting.

For more of Dee Blair's columns, go to www.deeblair.com.

Text Only