A Friday evening exhibition preview with twenty or so gathered and a bartender faced with that many drink orders at once. It was the gallerist's birthday, and because I know her well I brought gifts -- plural because I'd purchased gifts for her on past occasions but never got around to giving them to her, until Friday.
Behind the gallery, up the stairs to the lane, is a nursery built from sick and discarded plants, most of them rescued, I was told, though some have been dropped off. Because not everyone can afford a car (nor want one, even if they can), there is a three car width of room for plants.
I was walking about the nursery when a middle-aged woman came down the back steps and started dead-heading. I introduced myself, and she told me her name is Cammy, though I wasn't sure of the spelling. Later I heard that Cammy came to Canada from Vietnam, so it's more likely a French "C" Cammy than a Pol Pot "K". Pictured below if a rose cutting she gave me. I will do what I can to bring others like it to life.
No comments:
Post a Comment