The announcement warned that we should wear appropriate clothing and shoes and bring a hat, water, and insect repellant. That seemed a little much to me. It’s only a two hour nature walk, not a six day, long range patrol behind enemy lines in Cambodia.
I debated what to wear. My first thought was to go full military: Camo BDU’s, combat boots, boony hat, night vision goggles, ghillie suit, two canteens, and an AR-15. I thought about wearing camouflage paint on my face to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie “Predator.” I wanted to be prepared in case the group ran into an angry Bigfoot or a crazed zombie squirrel. I’ve heard that some of the native plants can be dangerous.
It occurred to me that looking like I was a member of Seal Team Six might be a little over the top for a party of wild flower enthusiasts. I needed to tone it down. So I thought about going with a classic English adventurer look: Knee socks, khaki shorts and shirt, and a white pith helmet. But I realized I’d look like a Bahamian policeman directing traffic, so I tossed that idea out.
I lived in Germany for several years. Maybe lederhosen, mountain boots, and a tyrolean hat would be appropriate. I could bring some Swiss chocolate and entertain the group with a few glockenspiel tunes. Unfortunately I cannot yodel worth a damn. On reflection, the Bavarian burgomeister idea just didn’t seem right.
In the end I opted for hiking boots, shorts and a denim shirt. I brought my walking stick and leather backpack. I looked like a large, middle-aged hobbit I think.
Meredith and I showed up at the appointed time and place. The group was mostly retirees. There were only two other men besides me which is further support for the big wussy idea. I’m pretty sure one guy was dragged there by his wife. He kept wandering off by himself. I figured he had a bladder problem or simply wanted to catch some internet porn on his i-phone while his wife was focused on wildflowers. The other guy was old and needed a cane to walk. He was also deaf which seemed to me to defeat the purpose of the walk.
Two older ladies sporting master gardener badges were in charge. There was another knowledgeable woman who I think was also a master gardener. To break the ice I commented that I had signed up for the master gardener course and noticed that their badges referenced the University of Georgia. Since I am a Florida Gator fan, I was wondering whether I could get a badge that didn’t say anything about the University of Georgia if I passed the course. They reacted like I had crapped on their peonies. Evidently having a sense of humor is not a prerequisite to be a master gardener. I faded to the back and tried to hide behind my walking stick.
We started out by walking a short way up hill only to find that the power company had clear cut a 30 yard wide section of woods. It looked like Iwo Jima after the battle. There was moaning and wailing from the master gardeners about the callous destruction of nature. I bet the guy who built the retirement home up the hill didn’t think that way. Apparently the devastated section was where some of the plants that they wanted to show us were located. That discombobulated them for a while, but they recovered quickly.
They pointed out a small nondescript plant nestled in with other small nondescript plants. I think they may have been called it a Newton’s Dingleberry or a Pink-spotted E Pluribus Unum. The instructor said that it had flowers that bloom in the spring that are so small that you have to get on your hands and knees to see them. Fat chance. The only way that I’m going to be crawling around on my hands and knees in unfamiliar vegetation is if I have too much to drink.
The instructors were a little disorganized. They handed out a list of plants with their common and scientific names. The list was not in alphabetical order so when they identified a plant everyone would stop and scan through the list to find what the instructor was talking about. Then they started identifying plants that were not on the list. This really screwed people up. I gave up on that exercise real quick.
They were big on using the scientific names for the plants. Instead of saying that something was a Rosey Pig’s Ass, they would say something like, “This is a Porkus Buttocki Rosatta.” Then they started to correct each other, “No, I think that’s a Pudenda Cacciatori.” It was like horticultural trivial pursuit. I thought it was A Lotta Bullshitta.
Half the time you couldn’t hear what they said. “Did she say Aesculus Parvifloria?” “No, I think she said Aesculus Pavia.” I started making up names to help the people in the back of the group. I’m pretty sure that some of them think they can now identify a Medulla Oblongata, a Testicalus Giagantium, and a Homo Erectus.
I’m sorry to say that I didn’t get too much out of the walk. I now can tell the difference between an American Beech and a River Birch, but that’s about it. (I was going to go for an alliterative gag here about the bitch, the beech, and the birch, but it was too much of a stretch). The fact of the matter is that I only have four questions when it comes to wild plants: Will it give me a rash, is it edible, can I make a poison arrow out of it, and does it produce a useful wood?
Even though I learned nothing that interested me, I’ll sign up for the next wildflower walk in the spring. First, I think you are required to do stuff like that when you are retired. If only I could find a shuffleboard court. Second, there is entertainment value in almost anything that human beings do.
I really liked this one - made me laugh. Careful your sense of humor is showing. A fun read.
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