It only took me three years to get to the Warehouse after following their page on the advice of a friend, but there has yet to be a plant sale I can resist, so I found myself braving the rural roads (and culture) on the outskirts of Pittsburgh for cheap perennials, destined to die a slow death in the garage or what will cease to look like any kind of garden by July.
My first mistake was drinking too much coffee on the way, necessitating the use of the Warehouse’s less-than-desirable port-a-potties, a study in the depths to which humanity will stoop while squatting.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. We might be known as the City of Champions, but it ain’t for our back-end aim.
I was tempted to say I didn’t use the aforementioned facilities, but alas, duty (fortunately not doody) called. After a quick visit to secure hand sanitizer in the car, I was ready.
Being a bit overexcited, I decided to hit the non-plant section first, for fear of overspending due to outsized enthusiasm.
Wow. Just wow. My Granny died in 2016, but it was hard to resist the lingering urge to call her and say we HAD TO COME HERE TOGETHER. Tools, flags, questionable pie fillings, watercolor sets, glitter, all for rock-bottom prices and a possible dead mouse at the bottom of the box. Totally Granny’s dream shopping experience.
It took a bit to find the exit, thanks to the hodge-podge collection of buildings strung together and no signage to indicate the exit, but I finally emerged with a collection of stuff I probably didn’t urgently need (or definitely didn’t need, if my husband had any say) with the confidence that they took cards and plant checkout was outside.
Ah, plants…so much potential, so many opportunities for disappointment.
Let’s just say I’ve been waiting for this spring because it was the first time I actually, mostly guilt-free, had money for plants. My Dad was a pro at buying ten flats of impatiens and begonias, leaving them in the garage until there was almost no hope, then hauling us out of whatever we were doing at 5pm on a Saturday and making us plant until sundown. It was literally what we were doing two days before my wedding. I hesitated and almost caved on the begonia flat, but since he only died three months ago, it’s still too soon. Next year, maybe.
Also, no hostas. My theory on hostas is that one should buy minimally and wait to separate. As you can probably imagine, I separate way too early, so the cheap is readily on display in my yard. (Did I mention I suck at gardening?)
Anyway, I’ll spare you a description of what I bought…because I can’t remember plant names and don’t want to walk into the rain to check them. Suffice it to say, there’s plenty of red something-or-others that go in the shade, because they provide an excellent contrast to the green weeds and ENDLESS DAY LILIES.
If you ever need day lilies, though, buy them from me. Because I have many. Way too many.
If anyone sends a bouquet of day lilies to my funeral, I’m coming back to haunt you in the most annoying way you can imagine.
My Seedy Affair 