I love to shop at consignment stores! It’s a great place to purchase clothing, household items, jewelry, and gently used books. As a fledgling gardener, I picked up a copy of Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul. This book is just one in a series of 275+ titles that have sold more than 500 million copies worldwide, translated into 43 languages, and published in over 100 countries! I guess I found a Best Seller!
Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul features 101 stories and includes #1 New York Times bestselling authors like Erma Bombeck and James A. Michener! And it hasn’t disappointed me. The stories have truly warmed my heart, and demonstrated love in the most remarkable ways! They have made me laugh and cry. I have bended a few corners thinking I may want to circle back to try something in my garden I have never heard of. And, I can’t wait to ready each new story still to come.
So, I decided to purchase a new copy and give it to one of you! All you need to do is send me a quick email telling me why you think you should win the book! (And, anything else you wish to share.) Please email me no later than October 31st to enter. Be sure to put in the subject bar: DID I WIN???
I look forward to hearing from you…And, to whet your whistle on this great read, here is a story I especially enjoyed reading. I hope you love it, too.
LADIES OF THE GARDEN CLUB
By Stephanie Welcher Buckley
“Me? Join a garden club?” I asked my boss in amazement. “Why in the world would I do that?”
I was a career-oriented woman in my early thirties. I had no time for a garden. And unless it was a business networking group, I had no interests in clubs.
“As employees of the community health department, our mission is to make the city a healthier place to live,” Mrs. Hubbard informed me. I had no idea how joining a garden club would accomplish that. And I had no idea that Mrs. Hubbard’s mother was the club president. All I knew was, the boss said “Go” – so I went.
My first meeting was on a Wednesday morning. Looking for the address, I was captivated by the beautiful gardens in this historic Oklahoma City neighborhood. Mature trees formed a canopy blocking the sun’s glare, while vibrant purple iris, red and yellow tulips and a sea of white pansies illuminated the yard at Dorothy’s home. What a contrast to my new house in the suburbs, where the front flower bed was filled with nothing but pine bark.
Though I was a few minutes late for the meeting, only three others had arrived. The dining room table was set for a full breakfast of quiche, fruit, sausage balls, and poppyseed and banana nut muffins. Members slowly trickled in. I was on my 3rd cup of coffee, yet the meeting had not begun. I was a little edgy from the caffeine rush and the thought of all I needed to do at work. Then I learned that the meeting ended at noon and the ladies usually went out to lunch together afterward. I greeted that news with a smile and clenched my teeth, and tried to keep from drumming my fingers impatiently.
The members, all past retirement age, introduced themselves. I was the only young person there. But as the meeting began, I found myself relaxing, captivated by the program on native plant species. I was so engrossed in imagining my own bare lawn bursting with plants, that I was caught off guard when President Bonnie announced, “We’d like to hold the meeting at your house next month, Stephanie – if you don’t mind.
At the office later that day, I complained to a coworker. “The last thing I want to do is host a dozen women my grandmother’s age,” I groaned. I’ve been with them two hours already!” But I was stuck.
A month later, on a Wednesday morning, I dashed around my little kitchen. I dumped frozen mini- quiches out of a sack and arrange them on a cookie sheet. I whacked two cans of quick-bake cinnamon rolls on the edge of the counter and slapped the doughy blobs on another pan.
This meeting will not be like the last, I thought grimly, looking at my store-bought refreshments. They probably wanted young people in the club just to do all the work!
The doorbell rang.
“I’m a little early, but I thought you could use some help getting ready for your first meeting,” announced Dorothy as she entered. “I know you’re a busy career gal, so I prepared a casserole and a fruit plate. “
Entering the kitchen, she offered to make coffee as I tried to hide evidence of the Pillsbury Doughboy.
“Oh good! Those cinnamon rolls are my favorites,”
