Thankfully, around March, things begin to happen again. People emerge from their centrally-heated homes and decide they should work off the winter weight by, say, holding a deceptively big flower and garden show. And the rest of us, starved for activities, come in droves.
James thought he might spend the weekend visiting with family in Florida, in order to be anywhere other than the cold musty north-east, so I had nothing better to do than to absently search Facebook for weekend events, until lo and behold, the 15th Annual New Jersey Flower & Garden Show!
I’m not entirely sure what I expected it to be, but in my head I pictured the common Idaho farmer’s market/county fair. Something with a few booths, an abundance of individual roses the size of one’s face, and that weird-looking charcoal drawing that won “Best in Show” via nepotism.
It was a bit like that, only much, much bigger.
Someone had taken a warehouse-like convention hall and moved eighteen or so gardens into it, complete with brick work, flower beds, full-sized trees, and even a few koi ponds. The whole area had a surreal and almost unsettling feel to it, because it did seem like you were outdoors until you hit a dividing path of cement foundation, or looked up at the black abyssal ceiling above you.
But the rest of the time it was cozy. Just look at all these things I can’t afford and don’t have room for!
How long did it take them to get all this dirt in here, and how tedious is it going to be to get it all out again? Will they scrap all the plants?
The event was sectioned into thirds: The garden display section, where landscaping companies vied for your affection by handing out cheap plastic pens; the art section, where people made art related to plants in some way; and the shopping section, with rows and rows of booths selling all the garden knickknacks you never knew you didn’t want.
I made myself go through the art section before I spent all my money on potted plants I would kill within the week.
Why, look! It’s a… cool spiky thing, with flower bits!
I would wear this in a heartbeat. Seriously, if anyone wants to gift this to me…
I enjoy this piece because I find it to be a very good estimation of my life forty years from now, complete with me lurking creepily by the window, eyeballing the passerby.
The sales booths were just as bad as I expected. I started down the first row, tempted by things like fancy weed-whackers despite not having an actual lawn of my own, when I was sidetracked by an older lady in a jewelry booth.
“Hello dear,” she said kindly as she reeled me in with her industrial-strength fishing pole, “would you like to know your birth moon?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I said, because I had never wanted to know anything so badly in my life.
So she took out a book the size of a few dictionaries glued together and skimmed through the dates, starting from 1900 and working her way up to 1995, December, the 19th of. “You were born under a waning crescent, or crescent descending!” she told me earnestly, already rifling through a few sorted bins and producing a necklace that matched. “It means trouble will follow you most of your life, but since it’s so close to the new moon it means there will always be hope for new chances and rebirth. That’ll be $19.99 plus tax.”
Needless to say, I bought it. It might not look like much, but it glows in the dark and I will always be able to tell the story of the time I was suckered into buying my birth moon.
There were a number of wonderful booths at the show. I bought a lovely knitted shawl with two matching hats from one, and a little bonsai tree from another. I spent some time being vaguely uncomfortable in a booth of dead butterflies, despite the sign assuring the customers that the butterflies had been collected after they had died a natural death.
I’d have bought one, but they were expensive and I can’t put nails in my walls.
Towards the end, weighed down as I was by numerous bags of unnecessary purchases, I came across a booth full of succulents and air plants, some of which- and this is very important- had little caps on the top to make them look like floating jellyfish.
I bought three.
It’s obviously very important to me that my room look like a jungle is gradually moving in, and I’m thankful to New Jersey’s Flower & Garden show for accelerating that process. It also made me realize that flower shows exist, which is why I’m going to the Philadelphia one in the coming weeks to buy even more air jellyfish.
I’m running out of space on my windowsills, however.