Herban Sprawl

I got assailed by a concerned friend about yesterday’s post. Felt bad that it sent him into a little bit of panic about my state of mind, but this morning was able to reassure him that I thought it was the combination of different things in my life that had been on hold for way too long, the weather (rain and chill), and too many red jelly beans. Then I got badgered about where it is that I go - my Tiffany’s - to chase away the mean reds.

Several years ago, when my late father was first in need of 24/7 care and was bucking the system with every fiber in his scrawny body, Uncle Doc showed up. He bellowed at my father that he had something he needed my help with, we were taking his truck, and that he needed to go take a nap or something for the next few hours, and that was that. “Get your purse,” he barked to me.

Uncle Doc at the wheel of Dad’s truck is an experience. Uncle Doc with the foot of lead. (This was before his debilitating strokes, and he was hell on wheels!)

He took me to Hornbaker Gardens near Princeton, Illinois. Uncle Doc was big into hostas. I had perennials and herbs. I was also developing The Detectives’ Garden.  Their site is www.hornbakergardens.com  You can see pictures of the place, and spend some time studying the gazebo….

I wandered around, while he did his thing. I filled a wagon, but it was the wandering. I never gave two figs for hostas, but to see their ravine, planted up and down with hostas and other shade-loving perennials was breathtaking. I sat in the gazebo for quite a while, just soaking in the peace, quiet and noticing how my shoulders had resumed their pre-tension position, my breathing had slowed and deepened, and I felt my spirit being replenished.

Hornbaker’s is like Tiffany’s - you know nothing bad can happen to you.

It’s become an fairly regular annual event for us. We get in the car, and we go along. Uncle Doc rests in a chair now, while I storm the place, buying up hostas and daylilies with interesting names. They finally have added herbs, too, so that’s nice. But it is the time I take to meander down into that ravine, to sit in the gazebo that chases the mean reds like nothing else can.

This morning, I was making a date to go to Walters’ Greenhouse in Cooper’s Cove and it hit me that mean reds don’t have a chance in the herb house. I kind of like that idea. In fact, just thinking about it turned that red to the most beeyootiful shade of vibrant pink….