Thank goodness for cold weather and hail... now I’ve got flowers

The other morning when it was minus four degrees, I couldn’t believe the calendar. It said it was April… almost May, and someone left the air conditioner set on summertime. The floor was cold, the fans were blowing in their summer-time downward mode. I was dressed in my lightweight, fifteen-year-old gown which had nothing to do with warmth. I was covered, but my chill-bumps showed through the cotton. It was cold.

The day before, it had been warm… upwards of ninety degrees and the wind changed directions six times. Sometime before or after the norther came through, the hail and cold weather struck my pine tree, knocking down another shower of needles, countless pollen-filled flowers, and some tiny little pinecones who had been stuck up in that tree since the millennium change.

Well… the hail, copious rain, and cold weather affected more than my kitchen floor and the pine tree out side. It damaged lots of people’s gardens and flowers. Some had purchased plants; others just enjoyed the new flowers urged on by the spell of warm weather. These people woke up that morning sad… not because it was cold, but their glorious spring yard was knocked to “hail.”

Procrastination sometimes wins out. I’ve been busy, tired, lazy, and a bit out of sorts. Read that last part, old. Whatever the cause, I had not done a thing to my yard except pay someone to scalp the weeds and trim a few bushes. He did a great job, but there was no color. So, this morning, I decided something had to change.

I ran some errands which included buying dog food. The cheap food I bought them last time made them itch, so after half a bag of allergy-laden kibble, I decided to pop for the good stuff. But I didn’t buy it. I promise I will tomorrow, but today, I parked by the garden department at Walmart. Boy was I glad. Most of their pretty flowers had either been whipped to a frazzle by the wind or burned by the sun or frozen out that morning last week. Pickings were rather “seedy.”

Of course, with my expert green thumb, I knew some of those plants could be salvaged. They had good roots, some nice inner leaves, and even a few good blooms. The problem was the price tag. Like the other things in this world of high inflation, the flowers were about twice what they were last year. I sidled up to the man at the register and asked if they were going to cut the price… I offered him a good deal on his “dead plants.” He smiled. It seems that he wasn’t in charge. No one was. The real head of the department was on leave.

“Who do I ask?”

He shrugged. “Not me.” He said I’d have to talk to management. I think he thought that would deter me. Not me, I’m retired. I have time to walk the length of the store looking for someone with a name tag and a wire in their ear. I found two of them… talking to each other. One was the big boss.

I asked and was granted fifty percent off the pitiful plant in my basket. So, the other man joined me in the plant department, bringing along his ray-gun and girl-wonder Liz who made new price tags for enough plants to fill my basket. There was joy in Mudville this afternoon, and trimmed, well-watered plants in my flowerbed tonight. Bring on the warm weather, the gentle rain, and managers like the ones at Walmart.