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.
No comments:
Post a Comment