On Sunday afternoons, church clothes would be hung back up, work clothes put on, a shovel thrown in the van and my mother would be off to salvage what she could off the land. Digging up bulbs in ditches, finding baby trees to take home, and filling up with flowers by the box full.
Trading went on like crazy during the spring, cardboard boxes full of dirt and green stalks were passed out like candy and left on door steps, cuttings were given away and yards were full of gifts that welcomed you everytime you drove up.
I grew up thinking flowers were free, well minus the hard work of labor, and the realization when I started planting in my first home was a shock to my bank account. I desired bountiful, old plants that were full and luscious, not realizing that what you get from neighbors and what I got from the local nursery did not measure up.
Plant lovers have there clubs and circles, they talk and compete for the best yard, all the while trading with each other when bulbs multiply or zinnias are out of control.