He's Come Undun

Let it be stated for the record – and I still have the pay stubs to prove it – that in the summers of 1967 and 1969, I earned the munificent sum of $1.75 an hour ($75 a week!) riding the back of a trash truck for the town of Miami Springs, Florida. From 6:30 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon, I hefted tons of yard debris, soaking wet bales of newspapers, and discarded sofas; all in the name of earning enough money to buy a bare minimum collegiate wardrobe and purchase the textbooks that would be required for the fall.

That first summer, I was a newly minted high school graduate and in reasonably good physical shape. I learned two important things over those three months. The first was that all men are created equal. I was one of twelve guys – all white – who took the place of the town’s all-black sanitation crew while they were on vacation. We all got to know one another and, once it was demonstrated we were up to the physical task, we kids were accepted as junior members of the crew. The second lesson was to not even think about not finishing college. This was not a career path I would choose to follow.

I offer the above history because it is tangible evidence that I once engaged in heavy physical labor while doing so under the hot summer sun and torrid humidity that is the price paid for living in South Florida. As an adult – but now living in New England – I have planted shrubs, weeded vegetable beds, and built rock walls in the full of summer. I have chain-sawed trees, and moved and spread mulch. I am no stranger to hard work.

At the Garden Club of
Jacksonville

These past few days, I have had the honor and the pleasure to speak to three Florida audiences, where I found my odd brand of horticultural humor does in fact travel. And, along the way, I introduced them to my books.

This weekend, I am the guest of my oldest friend, Hank Rawlings and his wife, Marilyn, at their home in Port St. Lucie, about a hundred miles north of Miami. I have come here several times in the past few years, though earlier in the spring. In return for bed and board, I do two things: I offer a modicum of horticultural advice about what to plant on their property, and I do yard work, including planting anything they purchase during my stay. I also keep up my weeding skills.

This past winter was one of the coldest since record-keeping began in the state. The area around Port St. Lucie saw nighttime temperatures down into the twenties, accompanied by a hard freeze. The perennials I planted last year were history, as were two hibiscus bushes. 

Weatherbee's Nursery

Yesterday, we went to a wonderful, family-owned nursery called Weatherbees in the nearby city of Fort Pierce. There, I spotted a clutch of gardenia shrubs. I picked out two that looked particularly robust and we took them home.

At 8:30 this morning, I set out to plant them. And discovered I was no match for mid-April humidity and full sun. It was less than 90 minute’s work including prep and clean up. But, from ten minutes into digging the first hole, preparing a slurry of soil and peat moss, and freeing the gardenia from its container, I was drenched in sweat.

The finished planting

The sky was cloudless and there was not even a hint of a breeze. It was two, one-gallon containers. My sunglasses quickly filled with sweat. My lightweight shirt was soaked, and I was still prepping the hole.

Afterwards, I took my second shower of the morning and contemplated what had just happened.

It is possible that, at 76, I shouldn’t be out in the hot sun doing manual labor. It is possible that, had I started at sunrise as had been my original plan, I would have come out of the process with nothing more than a sweaty brow.

What is more likely is that decades of being coddled by cool low-humidity New England summers have softened me up. The tough teenager - who needed nothing more than a quick shower before heading off to the beach for the rest of the afternoon - has grown into a gentleman gardener whose Florida genes have laid dormant.

I refuse, though, to accept anything as inevitable. I intend to keep digging holes and moving rocks until they take the spade out of my enfeebled hands.