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"ARE YOU GOING WITH US?" asked a sis-in-law of mine.  It was exactly a week ago, she had called to say, "We're going to greenhouses in the morning.  Be at my house at seven-thirty if you want to go along."

So I was there (last Saturday).  There were lots of flowers at Sara's house, and some of them spread a most lovely carpet on the lawn!  But it was potted flowers we were after, this gang of four whom I joined (sisters of the Yard Man, plus a niece).  "Have you ever gone along to Henry's with us before?" they asked me. When I said no, I didn't think so, they chorused: "Just wait 'til you see Henry's!  You won't forget Henry's!"  (It was clear to me that Henry's was going to be the highlight of this morning excursion.)

But first of all, we stopped at a small greenhouse filled with herbs.  The trusting Amish woman who grows these plants had left a note for would-be buyers: We are not here today--you may help yourself and leave a note.






 

















There were a few other folks buying herbs here, and they were stuffing the cash into a drawer.  I contemplated this, and tried to conjure up a world where all of humanity (including,...uh...the IRS) would be so trusting and trustworthy!
I chose two parsley plants and potted cilantro, and a little imp inside my head wanted to leave my dollar bills in some odd spot where the seller would be surprised to find them.  I could write a note, as requested.  I could make up a poem, an ode to herbs and honesty.  It could be a treasure hunt, and...Ah, but we were on the way to Henry's!  I tucked my money in the drawer, and scampered out to the van.

As soon as we got to Henry's, of course, I could see it was someplace special!  People were streaming in and out of the greenhouses, cartloads and boxes filled with flowering plants.


And when I got inside, I sucked in my breath.  The space inside the greenhouses could only be called a flower museum! (Well, that's what I dubbed it.  If you ever see it, Reader Dear, you can call it a grand eclectic mix of creativity, or whatever).  There were flowers spilling over all kinds of fixtures and furniture, and potted in unusual and artful containers.
It was a feast for the eye!  


                                                                    
 All the exclamations of glee from my sisses-in-law and me (Wow, would you look at this!  Oh, don't you love this! I'm going to have to get me one of these!...well, I suppose they were a feast for the ear, if Henry happened to hear!)
















I sensed a rooster-ish theme pretty early on.  They were mutely crowing their presence everywhere.



Which made it somewhat surprising that a Billy goat was the real live animal keeping watch over the whole operation!  (Er,... isn't this the second goat I've had the chance to talk to up close and personal in the recent past?

 Yikes, do I sense a theme of my own developing here...?!)

After Henry's, we visited a couple other greenhouses before we transported our minivan load of flowers back to Sara's house.  And those greenhouses were certainly okay.  And one was big.  But they weren't Henry's!
Let me just say this:  
Have you ever visited Henry's, Reader Dear?
You should go see Henry's!  Just wait til you see Henry's!
You won't forget Henry's!

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