I am a nurseryman,
a keeper of plants.
My moment is an hour of a day of a lifetime.
It is Mother's Day morning.
Mothers Day is high noon for a plant nursery. It defines us, a single measure of our success. It is the bragging day that I share with other nurseryman as we gather in snow bound winter mornings waiting for it again.
Nurseryman rise early that day to greet the light. The desertion of January and bite of March have moved on to warm and sky, leaf and flower. Soon, we will bask in their sounds of laughter, admiration and joy as generations gather to choose our springtime life for barren flower boxes.
But now, in the silence, it is only for us to see our perfection of clean pathways exploding with colors awaiting eager gardeners. We move silently through perfect lines of trees and flowers moist from the morning. We stand satisfied with the beauty and symmetry of our work. This time, Mother's Day, is why we are nurserymen.
It is our moment.
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