Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1)
Read Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Karin Boutall
Community
Gardens
By
Karin
Boutall
The characters and
events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the
author.
©
2014 Karin Boutall
All rights
reserved.
For Thelma
who taught
me kindness
Several
years ago I was lucky enough to stumble into a Blue Moon Festival
while vacationing on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The sky was clear,
the evening warm. People meandered through the streets in tightly
knit groups, drinking and laughing. Barkers hollered from the Blue
Moon beer carts parked on every corner. So I assumed a beer company
named Blue Moon was having a celebration of some kind. But I was
wrong. In fact, I was reminded that it was the night of the blue
moon, a rare event, and not some beer party put on by a brewery that
coincidentally named its beer Blue Moon.
Embarrassed by my ignorance, I studied a bit about blue moons and
discovered that: “There were twelve names for full moons, one
for each month, and the name Blue Moon was used in years which had
13 full moons... The term Blue Moon is believed to have originated
in 1883 after the eruption of Krakatoa. The volcano put so much dust
in the atmosphere that the Moon actually looked blue in color. This
was so unusual that the term "once in a Blue Moon" was
coined.”
I learned that, not only had I stumbled into a crowded festival, I
had also stumbled upon a rare event indeed; the blue moon shining on
the Gulf Coast waters.
The memory of this pretty festival stuck in the back of my mind for
quite some time. Recently though, while studying the Master Gardener
program, I discovered that a lot of gardeners and farmers use the
lunar cycle as their planting guide. They rely on the full moons to
determine when to plant and seed. At that point, the idea for this
book, Community Gardens, sparked. The rest of this story is fiction,
of course.
And so, I would like to thank Dr. David R. Williams, NASA Goddard
Space Flight Center for his article about blue moons. I would also
like to thank the Mississippi State University Extension Service,
Master Gardener Program for their horticulture publications. Their
research helped me put this story together.
Contents
Sand
Hill Cove, Mississippi
Blue
Moon 2001
A goblin hobbled
beneath an ancient live oak tree dripping with Spanish moss. A ghoul
followed. A tall woman, cloaked in a pointed black hat, swooped to
kiss a vampire. Behind them lurked Superman, the Hulk and a monster.
Together they hiked down Main Street, chatting and laughing. After
the monster hooted at the moon, the crew paraded into Holden's Books.
Behind the coffee bar, Blaine Holden, the owner of Holden's Books,
was dressed in a massive hair wig and red-painted lips. He waved his
chubby arms at the ghastly crew; the vendors from the farmer's market
of Sand Hill Cove.
In
the corner, Buzz Egan, the local beekeeper, opened a laptop and
tapped a microphone.
“This
is Buzz Egan broadcasting live on internet radio from Holden's Books
in Sand Hill Cove, Mississippi. It is October 31st, 2001 and a very
special night. It is the night of the rare blue moon, the thirteenth
full moon of the year. Tonight's Blue Moon Festival is a unique
event, indeed, because tonight is also All Saints Day. That's called
Halloween, for you folks who aren't familiar. This celebration was
kicked off earlier with a parade that was held beneath the live oak
canopy of Sand Hill Cove, the busiest small town on the Gulf Coast.”
As
the crew partied, a lone woman left the shop. She passed the beer
gardens. Glass mugs clinked and mingled with the music. Whiffs of
smoke and yeasty beer crisscrossed in the damp air and filled her
nostrils. The orange glow of restaurant lights dimmed behind her as
she walked away from Main Street. Three blocks away, her antebellum
home set atop a hill and within view of Sand Hill Marsh. The night
was dark and the black, slick water of the marsh would be lit by the
glimmer of the blue moon. A black cat darted out from under a gnarled
swamp oak. She lurched, then whispered, “I just want to go home
and be left alone.”
* * *
Early
the next morning, the woman blew steam away from her coffee mug. She
savored the rich, bitter taste, mixed with velvety cream. She stood
on top of a hill that housed the library. To the north she could see
Main Street. Smashed pumpkins and beer cans lined the walks. This
Halloween was the busiest she had ever attended. The parade was
noisier, the dancing wilder, and the garbage more profuse than she
had ever seen. But then she could not remember a festival that
included Halloween and a Blue Moon Festival on the same night. As
with all town festivals though, and there were many, she and the
volunteer crews would manage to clean the trash away, no matter how
messy the event.
Looking
south, she eyed the quiet waters of Sand Hill Marsh as it lapped on
the shore. This time of year the threat of hurricanes had passed and
the waters were especially calm. The marsh was home to alligators,
birds, fish and venomous creatures. Her favorite creature was the
white crane, a long, graceful animal. It launched from the marsh with
a gradual lift, like a giant 747 on take-off. Beyond the marsh, the
Mississippi Sound was alive, with dolphins playing, pelicans diving
and mullet jumping in its shallow, warm waters. Beyond the barrier
islands lay the Gulf of Mexico, its deep waters stretching further
than the horizon.
The
woman set her coffee aside and pulled a new pair of garden gloves
over her well-manicured hands. She had planned on planting the
knock-out roses in early October, but the heat and humidity had been
unbearable. This morning was much better. She started planting just
before dawn. She chose knock-out roses for the bright red color, like
the red of Christmas ribbons, but doubted they would bloom through
the season. In fact, even though they were the hardiest of all roses,
she expected them to go into shock. She carefully crumbled some dirt
and mixed it with peat, then shoveled the mixture in the hole where
she'd planted the roses. Next, she capped the hole with pine mulch
then watered it to completely remove any air pockets.
While
watering, she heard a car pull up to the library. She turned and saw
a familiar white vehicle with a red light on top. It was the Sand
Hill Cove sheriff, Ed, coming to visit. Ed slowly parked the car. The
woman pulled off her gloves, plucked a cigarette from her apron, lit
it and drew a long inhale.
Ed
tipped his hat while walking toward her. “Morning.”
“What's
got you up so early this morning Ed?” She drew another plume of
cigarette smoke through her teeth.
“Same
to you.” Ed stared directly into her eyes. He removed his hat
and held it across his chest. “Your husband's not home?”
She
shucked her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “So what's new. Have
something to say sheriff?”
“This
time I do. You see...”
“You
won't surprise me.”
“We
found your husband's boat drifting in the marsh. It was empty.”
The
woman tossed her cigarette on the ground. Then rubbed it out with her
shoe.
Sand
Hill Cove, Mississippi
Spring
2011
Joan Louen pulled a
wagon full of flower pots across her renovated living room and parked
it next to a bulb display. She stepped back to check the display.
Pots of thyme and jasmine should surround the wagon,
she
thought. While she searched the room for the pots, she also checked
for further flaws. Lights on? Windows clean? Bamboo fans on?
Everything was in place. Finally, The Community Gardens, the garden
shop she'd built from a decrepit two-story house, had come to
fruition. Now, after months of restoring and landscaping, it was time
for the grand opening ceremony.
She
found the needed pots setting in front of Buzz Egan's honey display.
The pots were so tightly clustered around the display it was
difficult to see the honey jars, sweet sticks and beeswax soaps
setting behind them. She had promised Buzz that his display would be
the first one customers saw when they came through the entrance. He
had earned the front entrance spot because he had broadcast her grand
opening for weeks over the internet radio. When she shoved the pots
aside, the honey jars stood out like pots of gold setting next to
rainbow-colored sweet sticks. She left a few blooming pots of clover
around the display and took the others back to the wagon.
Gazing
around the room, she made a mental note to thank Roz for convincing
her to create a consignment shop so the inventory, with the exception
of her nursery-grown plants, would come from local store owners,
artists and Farmer's Market vendors. The arrangement eliminated much
of the burden inventory management posed for small retail stores like
hers. It also gave her more time to find new customers and work in
her beloved nursery.
The
suggestion had proved brilliant. The shop was now loaded with
merchandise. Handmade garden stones and flags from Ivy's Garden Club
spruced up a sparse corner near the back of the store. Lavender
sachets and mint soaps, courtesy the Herb Shop, decorated the
shelves. Wine bottles from Sippy's lay in racks next to baskets of
tightly wrapped goat cheeses. Near the register, an enclosed case of
small cakes from The French Bakery, sat next to a gleaming silver
coffee pot. The specialty brewed coffee inside came from Holden's
Books.
Another
check of the room for misplaced items set her at ease. The Community
Gardens would finally open. She had dreamed of owning a garden center
since earning her biology degree. Buying this old house, after moving
back to Sand Hill Cove, had been the perfect choice to build that
dream. She had turned the greenhouse behind the store into a nursery.
She refurbished the gardens by connecting the old azalea, herb, and
flower beds with walking paths and added a few gardens of her own.
And with the Farmer's Market just across the street, a steady stream
of customers was practically guaranteed. Not only had moving to Sand
Hill Cove proved a smart choice, it was also the town where she had
married Chris and where Zack was born.
Remembering
her husband felt like a black cloud rising. A pit rumbled in her
stomach. An aching sense of loss swept through her.
If only the
Air Force hadn't transferred him to Colorado, would he still be here?
She
could have stayed in Colorado after Chris' horrible accident. There
were plenty of opportunities to restart life and open a store. But in
Sand Hill Cove, she could raise Zack in a small town surrounded by
old friends and pleasant memories. She wanted to cloak herself with
happier times and drown the bitter wound of losing the only love she
had ever known.
Joan
snapped to attention at the sound of clapping hands. “Are we
ready?” Roz asked.
“Ready
as ever. This wouldn't have happened with out you and the girls.”
“You'd
have gotten around to it someday, but it wouldn't have been as fun.”
Roz handed Joan a steaming cup of coffee, topped with thick cream.
Joan wrapped her manicured fingers around the oversized mug as she
watched Roz swirl a large gob of honey through her tea.
“How
are the girls coming with the lettuce baskets?” Joan quizzed.
“Over
fifty so far. The burlap made a great basket wrap. Lindsey and Chloe
choose Easter pastel colors for the ribbons. We'll sell out fast.”
“I
hope so.”
“You
know so.” Roz grinned and pushed her dark bangs aside. “Look
at everybody milling around the market. Even the blueberry truck made
it today.” Roz opened the front doors revealing a cloudless
blue sky. The rich scent of freshly pruned rosemary drifted in the
shop.
“Fresh
blueberries are gonna draw crowds.” Roz said as she stepped on
the porch with Joan following behind her.
Joan
waved to Buzz as he strolled across Town Park toward them. He waved
back with his baseball cap. “All the vendors made it. This is
gonna be busy. You ready?”
