Before I get into this post, I wanted to send out a special thanks to those of you who took the time to add a caption to the previous post. Your creativity and humor were wonderful treats after I arrived home and logged in to catch up on blog duty. I’m still smiling and LOL-ing!
I’m not a fan of the Western. I have always found the film genre too gritty, too violent, and too filled with underhanded, unsavory characters. I like comedy, drama, melodrama, a soundtrack, and always a happy ending.
But when Joe and I arrived home at 3:00 a.m. after a marathon drive from Fort Lauderdale, we entered the house as if we were a couple of sun-baked cattle rustlers in our own Western. Unshaven. Sweaty. Delirious. Exhausted. Even our mouths were tired as we spoke to on another with jaws that were just shy of clenched. Ironically, our newly repaired covered wagon — I mean the car — was in better shape than we were! Any thoughts or worries about my garden would have to wait until daylight — or at least until I was prepared to see daylight.
The forecasters, however, had other ideas about daylight. It seems that the next few days would be filled with heavy thunderstorms, strong winds, and possible hail. What’s a gardener in search of a happy ending to do?
I grabbed my bucket, clippers, twine, stakes, and worked between bouts of rain. Stepping outside like Clint Eastwood stepping out of a saloon, my eyes squinted — not because of any sun, but because I could have fallen asleep standing up — as I sized up my tasks to clean up the town. The sheriff was back.
Wait a second. That’s a happy ending? Hardy cyclamen? I mean, I think it’s great that they’re still alive and that I grew them from seed, but I need something more. Something big. Something with color.