I so often contemplate whether to move forward with a musing (Dan Laster word; I need to borrow all my nickel words somewhere) for whatever the occasion may be. So often we encounter “911s.” I can’t help but think to myself what would happen if a particular plant or plants did not arrive on time. No worries—I’ve lived it far too often during this illustrious career of mine (yes, tongue in cheek). The last time I checked, the sun still came up the following day. I’m very careful not to diminish the importance of our customers; however, I sometimes have a difficult time reconciling real-world problems with an event that has been ruined as a result of “that one dogwood that didn’t show.” I’ve been doing this longer than I care to admit. By all accounts I take it seriously; if I or my fantastic employees did not, there would be no Plant Detectives. That is my subtle apology to anyone who might take offense in downplaying urgency. We all have warts. I make no attempt to hide mine and I’d gladly list them to anyone who wanted to hear them and had at least a week. I do, however, recognize some positive attributes I possess. One of these is the ability to live in the moment, take joy from both the small and large things. Rarely is this joy a result of material things. Pull up to the Martinsville estate of the Lasters. I exit my vehicle and look towards the house. Here comes Jakey, a sweet bruiser of a golden doodle who simply doesn’t know his own size, but simply looks for affection. If I’m fortunate enough he’s so excited he pees a little. The real treat is glancing towards the windows to find two beautiful little ladies pounding on the glass, waiting for me to enter. Priceless. Simply sitting with Elliott, maybe chatting, when unsolicited he says, “You’re my best friend, Popsie.” Of course he then proceeds to look at Pearl (Jack Russell) and says, “You’re my best friend, Pearl.” Hey, at least I made the list. I double-dog dare you to look at the youngest—Ben—and not smile. Charismatic is an understatement. Oftentimes I will sit outside at night and simply look at the still waters of the lake and the reflection of lights across the way. I truly enjoy the wind howling through the windows as a summer storm approaches; many times you’ll find me outside, perhaps waiting a bit too long to seek shelter, with no regrets. I could go on, but all illustrate my desire to live in the moment. I don’t live for the big things, but rather cherish so many small experiences.

My memory is still fairly decent, but I have to admit I don’t recall previous thoughts I have shared; to me this anecdote embodies my upbringing and specifically my dad, “El Cid.” I don’t believe it can be overshared, so here it is. Many years ago I took a ride to beautiful Bucks County, PA, to tour a fantastic specimen plant nursery. I hopped in my ’68 P1800 Volvo and took the scenic route, thoroughly enjoying the trip. I spent several hours touring and tagging. As I trudged through the fields, a pack of Jack Russells followed, occasionally letting out a yelp as one of them found a varmint (to quote Yosemite Sam). The residence was, I believe, early 1800s and beautifully maintained in keeping with the period. I was not simply caught up with the nursery, but rather the entire experience. As I walked and tagged, I thought to myself, “If only.” I finished my official PD duties, gave my dear friend Ridge a hug, and hopped back in my trusty Volvo for the return trip. As I drove, I thought to myself maybe someday I might have something similar to this. “If only.” As I drove it dawned on me. Maybe my life is not charmed, but it has been pretty damn rewarding. I had to ask myself, “How many people might look at me and say, ‘If only’?” I have always felt satisfied with the life I have led. Surely there have been mistakes and missteps, but I can honestly say there is not much I would change. Great family, good friends (good is not a typo), wonderful experiences. I could go on. I’m reasonably sure I’ve referenced this before, but it cannot be stated enough—words to live by: Who is rich? He who is happy with what he has. I am not interjecting morbidity, but rather signifying the importance of these words, as my brothers and I had them inscribed on his tombstone. Thanks, Dad, for that and the appreciation I have for both things great and small. Enjoy friends, family, and that all-important moment. I’m sure this sentiment might have been borrowed elsewhere (same guy who always said, “Don’t piss on my head and tell me it’s raining out.” Classic). Since I’m on a roll, I’ll steal my oldest’s credo—again borrowed, but a goldie: “Life is a banquet; it’s unfortunate that so many people starve” (a little research and it seems like it originated from Auntie Mame, however my son tells me he stole it from song lyrics). DOESN’T MATTER. DON’T STARVE. TAKE IT ALL IN.

Let’s find our commonalities, embrace our differences, and please let’s not wait for one calendar day a year to give thanks. Last thought after too many thoughts: I truly enjoy giving gifts and frankly find it more rewarding when I can do it from afar. The recipient is free to react honestly without insulting me. The same can be said for this missive. You could have bailed after the first sentence. Thank you all for who you are.

Cheers and carpe diem,

Art