Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [5]
“There’s a greenhouse back there at the edge of the ridge on your left,” said Mo.
I moved to a pair of pink octagon-shaped lenses to try to see it. Suddenly everything in sight was rose colored.
“That’s how I make my living, selling plants and teas from the garden and the greenhouse,” Mo said proudly. I smelled the grilled cheese burning, so I figured it was a good thing she hadn’t chosen cooking as a career. “The work earns me just enough to keep this old place up and running.”
I pressed my nose against the thick pink glass. To my amazement, I saw a spectacularly grand Victorian greenhouse with steamy windows, and more snow-covered flower beds, hundreds of trees, an apple orchard, a bridge … and—it was the most incredibly huge garden I’d ever in my whole life imagined!
“Can we go see the garden?” I asked.
“You betcha,” said Mo. “As soon as we’ve finished our late lunch and called your father.”
Mo was true to her word. After we finished our orange-mint-smelling tea (which was interesting) and our grilled cheese sandwiches (which were crispy charred), and called home and talked to Dad (who promised to send me a good-night e-mail), Mo said, “There’s mostly snow out there, but at least I can show you the maze. Come on!”
“Maze?” I asked, hurrying to catch up to her.
She was already over by the snake hooks, buttoning up a furry purple coat, boots back on. She had on fake leopard-fur earmuffs, and that now-familiar grin was back on her face. “At dusk, the temperature starts dropping fast, so grab a scarf and hat,” she said. “And why don’t you wear my green coat?” With that, she marched back through the kitchen.
I heard the kitchen door slamming behind Mo as I scrambled to put on her coat and my boots. The coat went nearly to my feet and the sleeves were too long, but I rolled them up to reveal a tiger-print lining. How perfect! I shoved my gloves in one of the pockets and grabbed a ski hat with a tassel and a striped scarf, which must have been twelve feet long.
“My Christmas roses are in full swing at this time of year,” Mo proudly announced as I stepped outside. She pointed to snowy blossoms while I was still wrapping the scarf around and around my neck. “As I am sure you know, Birdie, Helleborus niger is the only true white hellebore. Legend says it sprouted from the tears of a girl who cried in the snow in Bethlehem because she had no gift to give the Baby Jesus.”
Evergreens peeked out from under the snow, and rose hips dangled from a hedge like orange and red ornaments. We started down a path, and Mo pointed to the far right. “That’s my rock garden with succulent plants,” she said. “And over to the left are my vegetable beds.”
There was a kitchen garden with scraggly blackberries and raspberries still winding along bamboo teepees, contrasting with limey green brussels sprouts hanging from frozen stalks. Everything looked Christmasy in a pleasantly natural way.
“I’ll have some early peas in a few months,” Mo went on, tucking a few rose hips into her pocket (no doubt to make a nice pot of tea later). “There will be summer squash and Fourth of July cucumbers and lots of flowers, of course.”
The greenhouse rose like a castle. It was a playing field’s distance behind the house. Its windows were fogged up, and steam rose from vents in the back corners.
“So, what plants do you grow in there for your business?” I asked.
“I experiment with different things. I love to experiment, don’t you?” said Mo. “I meant to tell you, I’m wired for the Internet here, so you can e-mail anytime. I sell my specialties online, and locally, too. I’ve got the finest white tea in this hemisphere; Camilla sinensis grows right in my New Jersey backyard.” She chuckled. “An unlikely spot, no?”
“Unlikely?” I repeated, pulling my scarf up. More like impossible, since tea usually grows in subtropical places like hot, humid Cambodia.