“Why are you smiling?” asked my wife, Diane. “These are some of the most sobering times of our lifetime. There is nothing to smile about.”

“No, no, it’s just that you and I have been pretty much self- isolating for the last week, and normally we spend some time every day in the church garden, and..... 

Diane interjected “Are you getting tired of me?”

“No, no,” I said hurriedly, “that’s not it. It’s just that.......”

Diane interrupted again. “And you know that I am worried that when we get the volunteer Garden Crew back to work, the tasks will be overwhelming.”

“I’m worried as well,” I said, happy to get a word in edgewise.

“Then what are you smiling about?” she asked with a puzzled look on her face.

“Well, you know all those committee meetings that I used to complain about? I was smiling because I was just thinking that after a week of isolation, the interacting, the debate, and even the contentiousness that went with those meetings suddenly seemed pretty good to me. I miss being with people.”

“And I am not enough ‘people’?” asked Diane somewhat archly.

“Oh, no, your are more than enough,” I said softly. “We’ll get through this.” 

​From Garden Gate (with tongue planted firmly in cheek!)

A lone acorn dropped onto Dr. Dick’s hairless pate.  (Dr. Dick, the garden doc, thinks he knows much, but knows little.) It was January, he was in the Memorial Garden and he was dressed in shorts and a tee shirt (it was 55 degrees out, but Dr. Dick maintained that shorts and tee shirt is always the proper attire for a Florida day.) Feeling a sharp pain on his head and knowing that it had come from above, he panicked.

“The sky is falling, the sky is falling”, he shouted.  Diane (his wife, and the landscape chair), and Katherine, our custodian, heard his panicked cry and came running.

 “Calm down Chicken Little – what’s the problem?” said Diane. 

Dr. Dick’s voice was still anxious. “I just had an object hit me in the head and it came from the sky. The sky is falling!”

“That was an acorn and the sky isn’t falling,” said Diane resignedly. 

“Well, I have never been hit in the head before like this,” said Dr. Dick.

Diane decided to let that one go and gave him a scientific explanation. “You are right,” she said, “normally the Memorial Garden oaks have produced very few acorns, but this year we are flooded with them.  Apparently, the cold winter last year combined with the hot summer stressed the trees and they produced voluminous amounts of acorns.”

“I see,” said Dr. Dick, “but the Memorial Garden now is full of acorns – I’m sure that as head landscaper you have a budget to take care of this disaster.” There was silence from Diane.  “You do, don’t you?” a degree of panic slipping into his voice.  More silence from Diane.  “You want me to pick them up don’t you?” Diane nodded. “But what if I get hit in the head again? I may end up with a different personality”. 

“That would be nice.” said Diane. 

Recently one of our newer members approached me in the courtyard after Sunday service.  “I hear that you know all about the plants and the gardens on the church property.”

“Yes,” I said modestly.  “I do. I am a member of the UUCS volunteer gardening crew.”

He pointed to a large tree in the memorial garden. “What is the name of the tree that has those lovely rose-colored flowers?”

“That is a Golden Rain Tree. In August and September, it has delicate yellow flowers that “droppeth as the gentle rain upon the place beneath”.  I smiled, having slipped a little of a Shakespeare sonnet into my response - at least I thought it was Shakespeare.

Rather than being impressed, he looked confused. “But what about the rose-colored flowers I see now?”

“Oh, no,” I said, “those are not flowers, they are seed pods. I hate those things. They look nice but then they drop into the garden, germinate, and produce a bazillion little seedlings in the late winter. Having no other gardening skills, I am always assigned to get on my knees and pull them out.”

“Well, I like those rose-colored flowers,” said the new member.

“They are not flowers, they are ........ I stopped mid-sentence, looked him in the eye and said wearily, “yes they are lovely flowers aren’t they?”

by Dick Happy

“Why are you staring at the debris bin?” asked Diane, our volunteer garden leader. “Remembering George.” I said. “I received word from his daughter that George Gannett passed away on Cape Cod last Thursday.”

First Diane smiled and then she frowned. “George was one of my favorite people and one of our best gardening crew workers. We were sad when he moved north to be with family. But how does staring at the debris bin help you remember George?”

I chuckled.  “Our Tuesday mornings garden crew comes up with lots of big branches and other debris and places them in a bin at the back of the property. When George worked with us, he would cut them up and put them in a very orderly pile. We had the neatest debris bin on the face of the earth! And he was strong - when he was part of our group he was in his late seventies and early eighties and he could outwork much younger members.

George was also integral to the functioning of the church in another way - for many years he helped keep the multi-media booth operational. But most of all I will remember him as a gentle, warm hearted soul with a ready laugh.”

Diane remembered his wife, Joy Erickson, who pre-deceased him. “She also helped out in the sound booth, was a first-rate artist and an expert genealogist. As a couple, they gave a lot of time and effort making our church what it is today.” I agreed and continued to stare wistfully at a very messy debris bin.

"I'm feeling lucky," I said.  "And what pray tell does that mean?" asked Diane, my wife and the boss of the UUCS gardening crew, looking up from her newspaper.

"Well, I think we have a really expert church gardening crew and it makes me feel good." 

Diane responded, "Oh, you mean Bob who is our orchid specialist, and Pat who knows all about bromeliads. She even knows the Latin names."  

"Vini, vidi, vinci" I exclaimed.

Really?" Diane said, "Your ninth grade Latin class? I came, I saw, I conquered?" 

But she was ready to name more names. "What about Debbie our excellent pruner, and Larry who takes care of the playground, and Ed who keeps the memorial garden bromeliads in good shape and Darryl our fruit tree specialist. You are right, we really are lucky." 

My name hadn't been mentioned.  "What about me, I take care of the weed." I said.  Diane looked at me with bemusement. "Um, that would be weeds, plural."

"Of course," I said, and headed off to look for the weed er...weeds.

“They’re watching me,” I said to Diane our church landscape chair. I was out by Fruitville Road hacking away at the weeds with my shuffle hoe. ‘Who’s watching you?” she said.“Those green parrots with black hoods that make so much noise. They have nests in the holes of those telephone poles, and they sit and peak out and watch me with their beady little eyes.  It is creepy.”  Diane seemed a bit exasperated. “Well, first of all, they are not parrots, they are parakeets, Nanday parakeets. They come from South America and are feral in our area”.  “Well, “I don’t like them, and by the way, how do you know so much?” “Wikipedia,” she said.  “Ah,” I said,  “then it must be true.”

“I think that it is time for me to do some educating in my weekly Contact vignette/Blog post,” I said to my wife Diane the leader of our landscaping committee. “That would be a nice change from you running around shouting ‘Jeepers Creepers’”, she responded.  I ignored the comment.  “People (at least two of them) have asked about the purple plants with the purple flowers along the walkway leading to the Lexow Wing. They are called tradescantia pallidas and we have another species in the memorial garden, tradescantia zebina. Diane looked at me in amazement. “You know the Latin names?”. “Yes, and I can inform you that they are species of the spiderwort plant,” I said proudly. “How did you know all that?” she asked suspiciously. “Oh, I am a rather learned horticulturist,” I said as I walked away while surreptitiously sliding my smartphone into a pocket.

​No, we are not talking kings and queens here, just butterflies. While working with our church gardening crew this past Tuesday, we spotted a couple Monarchs flitting about one of the large shrubs near the back of our church property. We were struck by the beauty of their orange and black colors as they spread out against the tiny purple flowers of the shrubbery.  And we wondered if they were “our” Monarchs.  Last spring we had watched with great (almost obsessive) interest when a Monarch female laid eggs on our milkweed plant, beginning the complex reproductive cycle of butterflies. When the cycle was complete, we felt as if we had been part of a process that launched eleven new Monarchs into the world.  This week, lacking evidence to the contrary, we decided that they were indeed “our offspring”.  We stood and watched for a few minutes, in awe of the contrasting beauty of the butterflies and flowers.  Then we went back to weeding, clipping and pruning.

Last Sunday, the Flame Vine that grows over the arbor at the north end of the Memorial Garden was dangling vines into peoples faces as they walked through the garden to get to the sanctuary.  My wife Diane, chair of the church gardening crew, noticed and was visibly upset. “Didn’t you trim those vines yesterday?”she asked with just a hint of asperity. (One might ask how one knows when a hint of asperity is occurring.  My answer: after 56 years of marriage, one knows “asperity” when one hears it.) Anyway, I responded that indeed I had done the trimming. Diane looked at me, then looked at the vines.  I looked back and shrugged. “Mother Nature,” I said, “her fault, not mine.”  It is just amazing how quickly the vines grow during the rainy season, requiring almost daily trimming.  Some day I may just sit and watch and see if I  can actually see the vines spread their wiry tentacles.  Gotta be better than watching grass grow.

Dick Happy, Gardening Crew

by Dick Happy, UUCS Garden Crew

We get lots of questions about the giant plant that hangs from the iconic oak outside the Lexow Wing.  It is called a staghorn fern and, although it may be hard to believe, it is an epiphyte or air plant getting moisture from rain and water vapor and absorbing nutrients from debris that collects on supporting plants.  It was donated from a church member’s yard several years ago, and it took four men and a large pickup truck to get it delivered to UUCS and hang it from the tree. We give it very little care although it seems to be delighted when we feed it ground up banana peel (it likes the potassium). We have two other smaller staghorn ferns hanging from oaks on other parts of the property.

In last week’s Contact I mentioned how thrilled I was with the rain. The brown lawns of winter had turned to brilliant green and our church shrubbery and trees were looking hail and hearty.  But then the rains have continued, and continued and continued bringing to mind the saying “too much of a good thing”.  Standing water has prevented the mowing of the lawns, the weeds are popping up everywhere and and the shrubbery is sprouting forth like, well like a weed. I have spoken to Mother Nature and asked for more  balance (she and I are speaking terms) and she has assured me she would take it under advisement.
-Dick Happy For the Volunteer Gardening Crew

​by Dick Happy, Garden Crew

I was startled recently when I drove by the church and noticed the luxuriously green front lawns. “Our irrigation system must be working well,” I said to myself. But wait, we don’t have an irrigation system (other than in the Memorial Garden where it is rarely used).  The rains of May had brought an early beginning to the wet season, turning our brown lawn areas into brilliant greenery.  The transformation from brown to green made me think about how important water is to the world and how fortunate we are in Florida for our “wet season," and sometimes how cavalier we are about it.

When I opened the Sarasota Herald to the local section this past Monday morning, I saw a familiar face staring back at me. Church member (and Tuesday garden crew member) Darryl McCullough was featured in an article about the growing of tropical fruit. Darryl is a member of the Manatee Rare Fruits Council, and he grows a great variety of tropical fruit at his home   The Tuesday morning gardening crew (and the church) has benefitted greatly from his knowledge: Darryl planted a mini-orchard of seven loquat trees in our front parking area, and exotic fruit trees in back of the kitchen and sanctuary.  All are flourishing. I am surrounded by experts on Tuesday mornings - Bob Milner (orchids), Pat Sindlinger (bromeliads) and Darryl (fruit trees). What is my area of expertise, one might ask.  Well, does carrying bags of mulch and obeying my wife’s gardening instructions count? Probably not.

​Dick Happy, UUCS Garden Crew

Click here to read the Herald-Tribune's article  and view their numerous pictures...
A video posted on the Herald-Tribune's site is available below:

On Sunday, I sat at the south end of the Memorial Garden, drowsily viewing my beautiful plants.  After all, I am Dr. Dick the Garden Doc and though my wife Diane thinks she is in charge, I am the true garden guru. 
As I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. (Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.) I turned around and found church member, John P. Steadfast, tapping his cane on the paver walkway.

“HI John,” I said. “What can I do for you?” (A quick glance at his name tag allowed me to pretend that I remembered his name.)  

“Well, Dr. Dick, I am delighted to see you back in the garden.  I have a few questions for you.”

“Okay,“I said, “My wife, who is technically the garden committee chair, is still in the sanctuary, but I am sure that I can answer any questions you have.”

“I have admired the beautiful plants in the garden for a number of years, “ he said.  “What are they called?”

“Begonias,” I answered quickly.

John’s bushy eyebrows raised in question. “Umm, I think Dr. Dick you are mistaken. Those are not begonias.”

“Oh, I meant butterfly bushes.”  I knew that the name of the plants began with a “B” but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of the actual name,

“I see your wife coming out of the sanctuary,” John said.  “I think that i will go to talk with her.”

“Okay,” I said.  What else could I say?

A while later, Diane caught up with me.  I was still in the garden and still “nodding, nearly napping” when she found me. “Oh, did you get to see John P. Steadfast?”

“I did,” she replied.  “The plants are tropical and are called bromeliads.”

“Aha,” I said excitedly, “I knew the name of those plants began with a “B”.

“Yes,” she said with just a hint of sarcasm, “congratulations.”

Last Sunday before the rains came, I sat on a memorial garden walkway bench reflecting on the beautiful music I just heard in the church service and admiring a number of beautiful orchids that had blossomed in the garden in the last few weeks.   Having managed to kill an orchid or two (or more) in the past, one might ask if I had suddenly developed a skill for growing these lovely plants? No, I got lucky.  New church member Bob Milner is an orchid growing hobbyist and we have been the beneficiary of his hobby as Bob has donated, displayed and maintained a number of orchids throughout the memorial garden. So, I sat and enjoyed the orchids, knowing that they would be given Bob’s tender loving care. Music and orchids. My senses were full and overflowing. (A UU Orchids group led by Bob meets every third Wednesday of the month at the church.)

Diane Happy

More than a month ago, our custodian Katherine noticed that a Monarch butterfly was laying eggs on the milkweed plant outside the church kitchen porch. She called to let me know, and I rushed over to church to observe.  We had planted the milkweed there, hoping that we would attract Monarchs, and sure enough a beautiful female Monarch butterfly was laying eggs on our plant. Trying not to hover, we watched as eggs morphed into caterpillars, and caterpillars changed into bright green chrysalises. And then we waited for the final metamorphosis - the butterfly. And after a couple of weeks, we had our reward - at least two butterflies emerged and fluttered around the back of the church.  We felt like proud parents.  We would like them to stay around for us to admire, but being Monarchs, they are probably off to parts unknown. We will plant some milkweed again and maybe they or one of their relatives will visit us again. We would love that.  -Diane Happy