Random Acts of Zinnia

Today I took the bus over to our preferred garden center in Brighton (which also has the advantage of being near a pet supply store, for cat food emergencies) and bought two zinnia plants in a last-ditch attempt to wring the remaining drops out of this waning summer.

I also needed a few new containers to re-pot some herbs that have been getting attacked by our resident porch squirrel, so by the time I checked out I had quite an armload, including the bag of cat food I'd picked up on the way.

I waited quite awhile for a bus to take me home. When one finally arrived and the doors opened, the sullen expression on the driver's face made me worry he was going to resist letting me and my bulky load on his bus.

As I stepped up to the fare box, zinnias wedged in an oversized container balanced on my hip, he grumbled something that I couldn't make out, other than the word "flowers." I hesitantly asked if he'd repeat what he'd said, certain it held some kind of censure, and he said, louder and clearer, "If you dry the flowers and save the seeds, you never have to buy them again. They'll come back year after year!" He looked quite pleased with this piece of advice.

I thanked him for the tip, paid my fare and moved along. Who says Bostonians aren't friendly? Particularly, it seems, when they have an opinion to share.