Today I met my hero for the month. Her name is Celestine. She’s 94. And I met her at the flea market. Why oh why didn’t I get a picture of her… She was sitting on a folding chair with about 30 little boxwoods in front of her all neatly wrapped in yellow plastic grocery bags.
Anyone who saw this post remembers that the state of our boxwoods around the back patio is dismal.
Back to Celeste. Remember how old she is? Yeah… NINETY FOUR. Well she grows all of these boxwoods from cuttings. She pointed at the smallest ones for sale (maybe 8″ in diameter) and informed me that those were 20 years old.
I asked if she had any help and she chuckled and replied that she does everything, it’s her exercise. How many of you dug up 30 small bushes this weekend? No? No one? Me neither. Those of you who are 95 and older…you have an excuse. Me, not so much. I put Oliver to work transplanting these beauties. (The explanation for his discolored mouth today is a blue push pop.)
Did I mention that when I needed to pay for half of the bushes with a personal check, Celestine responded that anyone who loves plants is good in her book. Well anyone who was born during World War I and can still raise 20 year-old boxwoods is better than great in my book. Thank you, Celestine!
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