basics. I cleft-grafted a camellia once. It did very well. Generally I stick with cuttings. I’m Stella. It’s nice to meet you, Harper.”
He rubbed his hand over his jeans before shaking hers. “Mom says you’re going to organize us.”
“That’s the plan, and I hope it’s not going to be too painful for any of us. What are you working on here?” She stepped over to a line of pots covered with clean plastic bags held clear of the grafted plant by four split stakes.
“Gypsophilia—baby’s breath. I’m shooting for blue, as well as pink and white.”
“Blue. My favorite color. I don’t want to hold you up. I was hoping,” she said to Roz, “we could find somewhere to go over some of my ideas.”
“Back in the annual house. The office is hopeless. Harper?”
“All right, okay. Go ahead. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Harper.”
“Okay, ten. But that’s my final offer.”
With a laugh, Roz gave him a light cuff on the back of the head. “Don’t make me come back in here and get you.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” he muttered, but with a grin.
Outside, Roz let out a sigh. “He plants himself in there, you have to jab a pitchfork in his ass to budge him. He’s the only one of my boys who has an interest in the place. Austin’s a reporter, works in Atlanta. Mason’s a doctor, or will be. He’s doing his internship in Nashville.”
“You must be proud.”
“I am, but I don’t see nearly enough of either of them. And here’s Harper, practically under my feet, and I have to hunt him like a dog to have a conversation.”
Roz boosted herself onto one of the tables. “Well, what’ve you got?”
“He looks just like you.”
“People say. I just see Harper. Your boys with David?”
“Couldn’t pry them away with a crowbar.” Stella opened her briefcase. “I typed up some notes.”
Roz looked at the stack of papers and tried not to wince. “I’ll say.”
“And I’ve made some rough sketches of how we might change the layout to improve sales and highlight non-plant purchases. You have a prime location, excellent landscaping and signage, and a very appealing entrance.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming on.”
“But ...” Stella moistened her lips. “Your first-level retail area is somewhat disorganized. With some changes it would flow better into the secondary area and on through to your main plant facilities. Now, a functional organizational plan—”
“A functional organizational plan. Oh, my God.”
“Take it easy, this really won’t hurt. What you need is a chain of responsibility for your functional area. That’s sales, production, and propagation. Obviously you’re a skilled propagator, but at this point you need me to head production and sales. If we increase the volume of sales as I’ve proposed here—”
“You did charts.” There was a touch of wonder in Roz’s voice. “And graphs. I’m ... suddenly afraid.”
“You are not,” Stella said with a laugh, then looked at Roz’s face. “Okay, maybe a little. But if you look at this chart, you see the nursery manager—that’s me—and you as you’re in charge of everything. Forked out from that is your propagator—you and, I assume, Harper; production manager, me; and sales manager—still me. For now, anyway. You need to delegate and/or hire someone to be in charge of container and/or field production. This section here deals with staff, job descriptions and responsibilities.”
“All right.” On a little breath, Roz rubbed the back of her neck. “Before I give myself eyestrain reading all that, let me say that while I may consider hiring on more staff, Logan, my landscape designer, has a good handle on the field production at this point. I can continue to head up the container production. I didn’t start this place to sit back and have others do all the work.”
“Great. Then at some point I’d like to meet with Logan so we can coordinate our visions.”
Roz’s smile was thin, and just a
He rubbed his hand over his jeans before shaking hers. “Mom says you’re going to organize us.”
“That’s the plan, and I hope it’s not going to be too painful for any of us. What are you working on here?” She stepped over to a line of pots covered with clean plastic bags held clear of the grafted plant by four split stakes.
“Gypsophilia—baby’s breath. I’m shooting for blue, as well as pink and white.”
“Blue. My favorite color. I don’t want to hold you up. I was hoping,” she said to Roz, “we could find somewhere to go over some of my ideas.”
“Back in the annual house. The office is hopeless. Harper?”
“All right, okay. Go ahead. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Harper.”
“Okay, ten. But that’s my final offer.”
With a laugh, Roz gave him a light cuff on the back of the head. “Don’t make me come back in here and get you.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” he muttered, but with a grin.
Outside, Roz let out a sigh. “He plants himself in there, you have to jab a pitchfork in his ass to budge him. He’s the only one of my boys who has an interest in the place. Austin’s a reporter, works in Atlanta. Mason’s a doctor, or will be. He’s doing his internship in Nashville.”
“You must be proud.”
“I am, but I don’t see nearly enough of either of them. And here’s Harper, practically under my feet, and I have to hunt him like a dog to have a conversation.”
Roz boosted herself onto one of the tables. “Well, what’ve you got?”
“He looks just like you.”
“People say. I just see Harper. Your boys with David?”
“Couldn’t pry them away with a crowbar.” Stella opened her briefcase. “I typed up some notes.”
Roz looked at the stack of papers and tried not to wince. “I’ll say.”
“And I’ve made some rough sketches of how we might change the layout to improve sales and highlight non-plant purchases. You have a prime location, excellent landscaping and signage, and a very appealing entrance.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming on.”
“But ...” Stella moistened her lips. “Your first-level retail area is somewhat disorganized. With some changes it would flow better into the secondary area and on through to your main plant facilities. Now, a functional organizational plan—”
“A functional organizational plan. Oh, my God.”
“Take it easy, this really won’t hurt. What you need is a chain of responsibility for your functional area. That’s sales, production, and propagation. Obviously you’re a skilled propagator, but at this point you need me to head production and sales. If we increase the volume of sales as I’ve proposed here—”
“You did charts.” There was a touch of wonder in Roz’s voice. “And graphs. I’m ... suddenly afraid.”
“You are not,” Stella said with a laugh, then looked at Roz’s face. “Okay, maybe a little. But if you look at this chart, you see the nursery manager—that’s me—and you as you’re in charge of everything. Forked out from that is your propagator—you and, I assume, Harper; production manager, me; and sales manager—still me. For now, anyway. You need to delegate and/or hire someone to be in charge of container and/or field production. This section here deals with staff, job descriptions and responsibilities.”
“All right.” On a little breath, Roz rubbed the back of her neck. “Before I give myself eyestrain reading all that, let me say that while I may consider hiring on more staff, Logan, my landscape designer, has a good handle on the field production at this point. I can continue to head up the container production. I didn’t start this place to sit back and have others do all the work.”
“Great. Then at some point I’d like to meet with Logan so we can coordinate our visions.”
Roz’s smile was thin, and just a
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