The day flies by, moving ferns, throwing soil here and there, firming up stepping stones, and of course, planting. I move around the beds searching for angles, some internal plant growth gauge busily churning away inside my head. What will it look like today, two years, five years, ten? My idea of a decent landscaper is someone who can see into the future, and I don’t just mean the check waiting for them at the end of the day.
The tree we brought, a dwarf Hinoki cypress is too small, which I knew it would be, so I dash over to another nursery and chat up the owner. All his workers are away, picking hazelnuts, and he is left alone to man the fort from his wheelchair.
“So, I guess that means no dozing off today,” I tell him. We laugh. Small talk. Who would ever have guessed that it would be the stuff that keeps the world on track and people from going insane as they muddle through their days. I’m not actually much of a small talker, and might compare it to something like, I don’t know, eating rice cakes maybe. Just something to keep the jaw busy it seems like. The conversation does leave me wondering if I’ll ever end up in an electric wheelchair? I’m hoping something all-terrain. One that can jump curbs, maybe spray a little gravel out if I really get on it.
Anyway, the only thing standing between us and completing this job is a custom-made trellis, a couple of missing plants, a bench that is sitting in a store 15 miles away, three yards of bark dust, and a small bit of time. I convince the customer that it is in everyone’s best interest to reschedule the trellis for a week from Monday, then send the guys out for the bench.
“We’ll wrap this thing up today!” I tell her. Two days early. She is very excited. The plantings look good, and with her family coming in on Saturday, it is obvious that she wants everything to look perfect.
“Let’s throw in a small stone step here,” I tell Fernando. Ten, fifteen minutes of work leave her stunned.
“Fernando! I just love it!” she says. He smiles, which is nothing new.