Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

if I'd become a horticulturalist I might feel more rooted

Yesterday I demolished some cookies lying around our office, which is odd, because in theory nowadays cookies are the exception rather than the rule in my life. Perhaps I have some secret, unmet soul need which I'm desperately trying to assuage--but I think I just like the chocolate chips. I was looking at yet another of my "thrift sale purchases" (for some reason, my life happens in 50 cent bursts these days), a Time/Life book on "Indoor Foliage Plants". The author was a professional horticulturalist. Maybe I would eat fewer cookies if I'd been a horticulturalist. Imagine--all those plants, all that "I'm in touch with the good green earth and I'm fine with that", and all that "ma'am, this abutilon will grow nicely if you don't plant it in direct sunlight". No doubt by now I could own my own nursery, which would be cool, because then I would not hesitate when I try to spell nursery the way I do now.

I knew one woman in college slightly who was a horticulture major.
My university, the University of Arkansas, was the sort of place where the only programs with national prestige were agriculture, architecture and creative writing. You know, plants, plans, plaints. This woman, a friend of a close friend of mine, always seemed so down to earth and "in touch". Dragging potted trees around open lots makes one in touch. I think she's out horting culture someplace in the mountain country, and probably raising kids who those "unfettered natural beauty" smiles. By contrast, the only one of my close friends in college who spent time in the agriculture department was the fellow who went to their "farm products store" to buy the 2 1/2 gallon box of milk, complete with the little plastic hose for pouring milk into one's cereal. I had a roommate for part of my freshman year who wanted to be a county extension agent. I imagine it would be fun to drive from farm to farm, dispensing brochures and advice. Maybe I've missed my true calling--maybe I was born to be much greener than I am. But any look at any non-cactus houseplant I have ever owned suggests that I am probably more suitably employed as is.

I'm sure this is somehow a hangover from those James Herriott books I've been re-reading. I love those books, because they so romanticize a life I so much don't lead. I don't think I'd be country vet material, although Yorkshire in the 30s sounds like a happenin' place. I always think it mildly tacky when lawyers write those "cases I have won" books, so I am afraid I must stick to bad poetry and forelorn efforts to write bad novels instead.
I do rather want to write a law careers book someday, but that task is set aside for now, as I have my novel next month to write on.

Meanwhile, my quest for local craft classes has been less fruitful than I had hoped. I found a great early November class on odd art book binding, one day of fun, down in Dallas. But my local crafts stores are offering classes in "jewelry making", "cake decorating" and other similar not-me skills, so I will have to keep on looking.
My wife says that our local parks department has crafts classes, and I know our local community college does, but so far I'm very U2 as far as finding what I'm looking for.

I have a busy Friday ahead, and I'm eager to go and live it.
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