Secretly, I did not want this one to sell.

This is a fine example of ‘omg what was I thinking?’

Progression of a container I thought was a slam dunk, but took much longer than anticipated to sell.

Most of the designs I do at the nursery are on spec, meaning I create a container without having someone who has asked for it. What happens when they don’t sell?

I had a ball in container design in 2025, and I managed to narrow it down to 35 favorites.

The Personal Plant Shopping Approach, a valiant attempt to meet the needs of the many, ultimately became too much for the few.

Young’s Weeping Birch, sans a few leaves, which makes it’s structure easier to see.

Is there a good dead vs bad dead?

I’m now wearing a face mask while at the nursery but it makes it hard to breathe, which I suppose in some way is the point. Masks are not made for physically taxing work, running in particular, and mine vents upwards into my glasses steaming them up. As a result my iPhone no longer recognizes me and more importantly, I cannot see.

All bagged up and nowhere to go.

And just like that, overnight the nursery employees became personal shoppers.

I’m driving to The Garden Center in my mobile office, which is what I call the car. I often return calls to family and friends while puttering along. But now that I think about it, rarely business ones even though I call it my office. I have no idea what state I will find the greenhouse when I arrive, and Monday night Governor Inslee declared a version of Shelter in Place.

As I walked into the greenhouse something caught my attention and I turned my gaze towards the vegetables. It wasn’t what was there, begging my notice. It’s what wasn’t there.

What a relief it is to be inside the snow globe called The Garden Center. With its contained environment of self-directed, calm and friendly introverts, it is a world unto itself. I’d forgotten about COVID-19 and it wasn’t until I was in my car driving home on Saturday that I remembered. Oh yeah, Rome is burning.

I have come around the southern corner of the rock retaining wall and recognized other signs that tell me it existed although I could not see it. Like the soaker hose system installed at the southern end of the house.

So there I am, minding my own business as usual, when a thought pops into my head.

“It’s time to retire from teaching yoga now.”

So there I am, minding my own business, looking at the embankment just outside my front door. I’ve been living here almost three years, and the ivy, salal and Oregon Grape have certainly had their way with the front “yard.” They seem a befitting counterpart to the 14 gigantor fir trees under which they sprawl.

And then I had a thought: “Huh. What am I looking at?”