May. 09, 2002 - 22:38 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Green Lore

Warm spring air and sunny weather was with us, I had already wiggled my bare toes in our lawn. When I was little about a long block away from our house was this strange looking house of glass. One day Momma took me there. I stepped into another world. There were little piles of what looked like dirt with something mixed in underneath benches holding trays of plants.

I tried to think of which question I wanted to ask her first. The best I could do was, "Momma, what are those ?" pointing to a clay pot with a plant in it. The answer, "I don't know what plant that is, but we will find out while we are here." Followed by, "Momma, why are the walls and roof made of glass ?" Momma was on solid ground there and said, "So that the sunshine can come in and keep the wind and cold from the plants in here.

The owner came to us and escorted Momma through showing her the different plants talking a wholly foreign language to her, but here and there was interspersed with some words I knew, but I couldn't connect any two phrases together.

I didn't know the word humid yet and wouldn't have understood it if said unless someone went into greater detail than they had patience for trying to explain to me what 'humid' meant. It was a warm sunny day but the temperature change from outside to inside was quickly apparent to me. Hot, not burning hot but darn hot. Enough to make me walk around and get in the shade of the benches away from the sun blasting in through the glass. There was a feel to my surroundings that made me think of how it was when I would pull the blanket over my head in the winter time because my nose would get cold (Dad would open a bedroom window a bit -- supposed to be healthier sleeping). With the blanket over my head, soon I would get too warm, but there was something there I understood -- moisture from my breath would collect under there and add to the discomfort. That and the fact I could see my breath outside and fog up a window, wipe it and feel the moisture - led me to the understanding that it was likewise humid in this queer place.

So, wandering the rows and looking at the many strange plants was somewhat like a trip to a green zoo. Some of that stuff looked wild and ferocious. All the different shades of green, different shapes of leaves and different arrangement of leaves made me understand just how little I knew about plants. I forgot any discomfort, voyaging up and down the aisles and rows trying to fill my eyes with stuff I had never seen before.

After Motherly shopping I saw Momma give the man some money, nodding at his thanks and we left, Mom with two pots of Nasturtiums and me with one of the same. I knew what they were because I remembered them from the year before, their pungent smell and distinctive taste as well as nice flowers.

In the short distance from there to home I rapid fired questions at Momma, barely taking time to hear her answers before I shot the next one at her. "Momma, what do they call that place ?" I asked. She said it was called a green house and eliminated a why question from me by saying, "It is called that because that is where they grow green plants." "Momma, why is it all glass ?" I queried. The reply was, "Most all plants need plenty of warm sun to survive, to grow bigger and make flowers too on some of them." Then little nosy me asked her, "Yeah but Mom why do they have all those little piles of dirt under the benches ?" She said that she guessed they used that soil to pot new plants. Then then next query of mine, "Mom, that dirt looked funny to me, what kind of dirt was that ?" A brief explanation that loam and maybe a bit of sand mixed in made the soil receptive to growing plants.

By then we were home and Mom let me watch her plant the Nasturtiums. She seemed to be as gentle to the plants as she always was to me. Of course Dad bought a flat of pansies and planted them, they were pretty to me but my vested interest was in those magic Nasturtiums. She saw me nibbling at the leaves and at the flowers and stopped me until she asked Grandma if that would poison me. Grandma told her that some people used both the leaves and flowers for seasoning.

So, the greenhouse was imprinted in my very being, the sight, the wonder of that strange glass place and the very different Greenhouse Smell . . . . . . . .

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