TALLAHASSEE TRANSPLANT BLUES

Lisa Stathoplos Copyright © 2025  lisa stathoplos  Slay Me, My Hapless Darlings

TALLAHASSEE TRANSPLANT BLUES

It’s kind of a slow day for early summer at the plant nursery. Overnight temps in the twenties might hamper garden planning. And, planting. A middle aged couple walking arm in arm make their way toward the annuals section. I continue loading young plants into my wagon.

“Hallo, there! We’re from Florida.”

I’m sorry.

My urge to blurt is successfully clamped. The woman with the pastel Columbia windbreaker — when did Columbia get into pastels? — is shivering and, from the look of her hairdo, I don’t think she planned on 25 knot gusts.

“Wow. Is June always this cold in Maine?”

“Only when it is.”

Oops, that might be one of the five things not to say out loud today. I’ll try harder. Glancing at her husband — Central Casting’s disgruntled rancher — hulking over the organics and looking ready to cattle prod any tender shoot that gets out of line, I’ll probably need to.

“Well, June is unpredictable — like all weather these days — but, a forty degree high is a bit much.”

“Ha, ha! Yeah, my husband says, “so much for global warming! Such a joke!”

Her accent is light but she won’t be mistaken for someone born above the Mason-Dixon line anytime soon.

“Mmmm, yeah, well, it is called “climate change” — unpredictability and weather extremes being key.”

I manage this minus snideness, stating the facts, kindly. The look she gives tells me she’ll quit her “global warming” routine with me. Her husband, done menacing the vegetable seedlings, adjusts his straw, cowboy-style hat while lurking by the shrubs. He hollers through a gust that nearly takes his goofy-looking Stetson.

“Hey! Missy! Whaddya call this? This tree here? What is it? Honey, ya like it? Don’t it look like that thing Katy has down back?”

He spits toward the ground; the wind takes it airborne. I instinctively duck. He grins in the direction of his adoring wife. Gives another yell.

“Don’t it, honey?”

“I don’t know, baby, kinda does, I guess.”

Another gust swallows most of the following.

“Huh?!”

“I said, I DON’T KNOW, Babe but, if you like it, we can try it.”

“Missy, what is this, anyway?”

Missy?! His drawl is thick. Texas, maybe? Hard “Rs.” Not subtle. He spits again. She beams. Musta been the draw, I guess.

“That’s a willow. A Japanese willow.”

There’s something about this couple that’s surprisingly charming.

“Ya got any a those for sale here?”

Nah, we have ‘em out here for looks. My thoughts are coming in threes and fours.

I lead him past the viburnum and rhodies to the tree area. But he saunters sideways and gets lost somewhere between the Arborvitae and dwarf spruce. I edge back toward my task at hand — transferring tender basil and Angelonia to the greenhouse to protect them from tonight’s forecast freezing temps.

“We bought a house in Brooklin, Maine. We’re from Florida.”

She’s definitely got the “beam” down.

“Uh-huh, you said. What part?”

“Titusville. Bet you never, ever heard of Titusville!”

“Oh. My aunt lived there, so… yeah.”

“She did? My, my! Whaddya know about that?! We got a lavender field behind our house. We put in fifty plants last year.”

“In Titusville?”

“No, no, sweetie, here. Here in Maine.”

“Oh, wow, cool. Provence in your backyard, huh?”

She looks at me quizzically.

“They made it through winter. They were just this big and now they look like this.”

She positively radiates pride as she adjusts, slightly, the distance between her hands.

“Lookee here what I got, honey.”

John Wayne’s back. He’s got an Arboravitae by the tail. Well, by the tip of its stem.

“Maybe pick that up from the base, please?” I muster, casually.

He adjusts his grip, spits again; it lands just to my right. I resist the urge to kick dirt onto it.

“My wife tellya we got lavender? We got fifty plants in our back forty.”

“Yup, she mentioned. You must’ve chosen the Munstead or Hidcote, right?”

They both look at me, stumped.

“Those do best in Maine.”

“Well, whatever we put, they’s a’comin’ on back so, we done good, I think!”

I manage a crooked smile.

“Mainers we’ve met don’t like to tell us about their farms.”

He winks at me.

“Yeah? Well, some Mainers need time to warm up to people. They’ll come around.”

I’ve nearly severed my tongue resisting a sassy reply like, “They may not take so handily to spit.”

“Yep, they’ll come ‘round soon’s they see we ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

Big Wayne lets out a big guffaw. Grabs his smiling wife around her pastel-swathed shoulders and hollers back to me as they go.

“Thanks for your help, Missy. We’ll see ya around!”

He’s got the Arboravitae by the neck again.

“See me around?” I’ll consider hiding in the perennials before that happens. But, I gotta admit — must be that “Southern charm” thing — I did kinda like them.

Copyright © 2025  lisa stathoplos  Slay Me, My Hapless Darlings