The Good Parts

 Now that I've gotten through my big projects, I can take some time to breathe, and took an honest-to-God break in Maine to hang out with a friend and her husband in their log home.  She loves to cook, so much time was spent eating and discussing operational logistics with the husband. Oh, and watching Jaws, because Shark Week. 

God, I love that movie. Robert Shaw gives me what Owen Meany would call THE SHIVERS.

About a month ago, once the invoices had been going out and the checks coming in for awhile, I ran a P&L out of curiosity.

What the..??!!??

I forwarded it to my CPA. "Should we re-evaluate my estimated quarterly tax payment?"

"Hey, that's great!" he responded. "Send me another one at the end of August and we'll figure it out."

I'd netted six times what I'd netted the same time last year.  On one hand, I could see making a LOT of money; on the other, without good help, I'd kill myself. 

The blessings and the curse of COVID.

I'd recently worked a more than 8-hour day in 90+ degree heat, trying to make up for a ton of rainy days, anxious that it was already July and I had clients whose yards were neglected.  I didn't think I was all that affected, but mid-weed I suddenly felt  lightheaded and my vision got a little patchy. I sat down on some stepping stones.  I was in an enclosed side-yard entrance, invisible to the outside world.

"Is this how they'll find me?" I mused.  Not wanting to lose time, I tried feebly to use my scuttle hoe from my sitting position.

 I'd already taken the SEO off my web site and stopped marketing myself. There were just too many frantic homeowners begging me to save them from being on intimate terms with their own property.  I worried that my regular maintenance clients wouldn't be enough, but with the wet weather it's all I can do to keep up, and there are projects that can be done for them.  

I like most of my maintenance clients - I show up, do some work, they pay me.

Recently a retired woman I'd done some minor work for got in touch to help with the "mess" her garden had become. I met her and we looked things over.  She told me what she wanted done.

"It all seems fine," I said. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes. Cost."

I told her it would be straight time and materials, and gave her my rate.

She hesitated. "Maybe to start I'll just have you come for three hours."

I looked past her at the platform they'd had built for their new hot tub, and beyond that to the private boat dock.

"That's fine; we can start with three hours and take it from there."

Here's what will happen: I'll show up, do my three hours, she'll see how nice things are starting to look, and will want me to stay. But I won't be able to, because I'll have other things scheduled.  

Another periodic client is a retired litigation attorney who is hilarious. She sends me pictures of containers she's done with comments like, "When you come by to weed, see what you can do with these. With all the rain, the petunias look like shit."

Today was satisfying. I worked over 8 hours and got on track. I'd so far attempted The Yard of Lightheadedness twice and had had to curtail the visits due to thunderstorms, but today I got it all looking good. There is something very satisfying about having the time to do something right.

I don't wear headphones while I work; I find them too distracting. Instead, I just ride the stream of consciousness. Today's Greatest Hits were:

How do people stay married without hating each other?

Should I try a cross-country trip in the van?

Why can't Margaret Atwood end a story well?

We the people, in order to form a more perfect union..

Maybe Iiiiii didn't love you, quite as often as I should have...

What's this...oh. Poison ivy. Did I see jewel weed back there?

Am I lazy or just jaded?

Tomorrow I have another roster of clients with rain-soaked weeds to pull. For now, I need to address the stabbing pains in my legs, and find the bug spray.

Caste System

 A co-worker at the garden center and I were talking about the bloom leaving the gardening profession. Pun not intended.  She related one of her experiences:

"I was working for this ninety-something woman who had a huge estate. She was a southern-belle type, and had me in for tea from time to time when I was done on her property. On one of these occasions, she mentioned that she wanted to 'buy some of my time and give me to her daughter as a present.'  I felt like a piece of property."

Yup. While nothing quite so blunt has been my experience, I have found that for the most part people who hire gardeners think they do nothing but relax by some shrubbery until summoned to do something with little notice.

Working for other gardeners buffered me from the constant reminder that people who can't pick up the smallest hand tool think it's your birthright to jump to some dirty job they decided needs to be done tomorrow. Even the nicest clients frequently have no concept of Your Time, and think nothing of expecting you to drive twelve miles to install ten annuals that they decided to purchase that day.

I've gotten good at saying no. In fact, most of what I'm saying this year is no. No more large projects. No more big installs. No more yards that have been neglected for years that they suddenly need napalmed this month. I'm open to pretty much maintenance only.

My joint issues have kicked into overdrive, and I'm sore and stiff, and oh yeah, nobody wants to work right now, even though I'm willing to pay an insane hourly rate. I've been through two people already. The first was someone I knew through other activities, and while he seemed knowledgeable and smart when ensconced in the local version of Grey Gardens with his elderly mother, in the field he became a mansplaining, slo-mo nightmare. On the last job for which I used him he was so slow I had to return alone the following day and work an extra 5 hours. Oh yes, flat-fee job. So.

The other candidate had experience, but while she started strong, I suspect depression issues began to play out, and while I'm a sympathetic person, I just need my assistant to get the job done and not spend twenty minutes on something that I can do in about 75 seconds, and I should not be able to move three wheelbarrows of mulch in the time it takes them to mulch the bases of three rose bushes.

I finally connected with someone I'd been in the program with, and with whom I'd worked. He's no longer in the hort biz but is going to work with me on the last large job I have, hallelujah. Ex-marine, martial artist; sling me some mulch, bad boy.

Truth is, I don't like it any more. I work way too hard to be this tired and poor, and I'm losing the interest in detail that makes a good gardener. My joint issues are also front and center, and I'm getting very sore and stiff. A former colleague from Chicago wanted to pick my brain about starting a business and I said, "Don't do it alone. Have someone to bounce things off of, share the pain, share the work. Don't go to bed every night with your head spinning with every thing you have to get done, knowing all of it - every last thing -- is on you."

I have learned a lot. And as a business owner, I've gained a deeper appreciation for being an employee. At the garden center I bumped into a very problematic former employer, but I did thank her for everything I'd learned from her, and I apologized if I ever made her life hard. I think she was blindsided.

Some people love the notion of saving people, of fixing things for them. I like helping people, but, I don't know, there's too heavy a whiff of servitude, of toiling over the weeds while your client is vacationing on the Cape for a month. I raised my fees dramatically, but as another gardener said, "I won't work in this area. All these Yankees are tight-fisted and don't like to pay."  I could make large money if I were miraculously able to get a crew, really expand, and try for the high-end clients with large estates, but at my age, that holds zero appeal.  I just don't want to work that hard anymore. As it is I rarely see my sister, have little time for housework and my uncle, let alone my animals. I'm not complaining, although it sounds like it; I'm re-evaluating and learning from the experience.

I never thought I'd dream of a desk and being paid even if I go to the bathroom as a consummation devoutly to be wished, but there you go. It will be a big adjustment, but I think of it as my next adventure.

My most favorite job will be retirement.