Dandelion stood out among perfection

I have a serious case of garden envy. We attended a garden fair this weekend. As we passed bed after bed of carefully chosen flowers and assorted plants, I marveled at how well-kept the areas were. Every one had a different assortment of plants in bloom.

 At home, my phlox are winding down. A late iris is still flowering. A smattering of annuals are in a battle with the squirrels. The squirrels seem to think the plants belong on top of the ground so they can wither. The plants and I think the roots should be buried in the soil. Most of the rest of the beds are gathering energy for next year’s bloom and are looking downright scraggly.

The garden fair clearly demonstrated the benefits of planning and repetition. This is the opposite of what I do. I buy one plant at a time, and planning never enters my mind. I like plants that are unusual or have odd names. I seldom if ever have enough disposable income to buy multiples of even the cheapest selections.

 The planting areas at the garden fair were clearly designed by professionals. The one landscape architecture class I took in college doesn’t qualify me to be a designer of anything. Besides, I don’t have a paid crew or a host of volunteers to maintain everything I plant.

The event featured more than beautiful gardens. There were vendors for anything remotely connected to gardening.

There were several displays of garden art. The wind spinners caught my eye. I pointed one out to my husband. He looked at the tag and while it might have been a fair price, it was way out of our budget. That probably was a good thing even though I know exactly where it would have gone.

 The most unexpected vendor was selling shoes. He looked lonely as I didn’t see him talking to any customers.

All of the people selling plants seemed to be doing a brisk business. The orchid guy had the most diverse display. He was busy selling something to a lady who was listening intently to his advice.

 I saw several gorgeous hanging baskets of petunias that were selling at a great price. I passed them by. Any petunia I have ever taken home starts singing, “Oh, poor, pitiful me, please have mercy on me,” as soon as I take it out of the car. Other people don’t have that problem as I saw many of them lugging around perky petunias.

 There were flats of vegetables for sale, some with baby fruit on them. There were common plants found everywhere and others that are more unusual in this area. There were flowerpots, vases and fertilizer. Booths handed out advice on irises, roses, plant food and anything else remotely connected with growing things.

 After touring the displays we walked through the farmer’s market. It was just as crowded and friendly as the garden fair. We didn’t buy anything there, either.

 It was a good day. We saw a lot of new plant combinations. We saw lots of people with well-behaved dogs and armloads of purchases. But the one thing that impressed me the most while viewing perfectly manicured beds was a lone dandelion huddled next to a perfectly round mound of something or other.

If all that beauty could play host to a common dandelion, perhaps there is yet hope for those of us who think we don’t belong. That one lonely dandelion provided a  humanizing element to a sea of perceived perfection and made me smile.