Read Online Fowl Weather by Bob Tarte - Free Book Online Page B

either. See that whitish color? That might be a case of excessive alkalinity, and different mulch could help. I’ll need to do a chemical analysis.”
    â€œWatch where you step,” pleaded an agitated Linda. “That’s a Jacob’s ladder behind your foot.”
    An arm’s length from the unsteady Henry, I surmised a possible reason for his lurching movements as an aroma of alcoholic spirits washed over me. A small man in his sixties, slightly stooped, he had the classic drinker’s nose with a latticework of veins, along with the telltale droopy eyes. “That’s one ladder you don’t want to step on,” I suggested.
    â€œSaint John of the Cross composed a poem about Jacob’s ladder,” he told her as he wrested his notebook loose from the envelope. “It was either him or Hildegard von Bingen, but you’ll want to read Saint John of the Cross. I’ll bring him along next time.” He scribbled a memo to himself.
    â€œI’d like to meet him.”
    â€œHenry, this is my husband, Bob.”
    His head snapped in my direction and he bounced in surprise, as if I had materialized at his side that instant. “A pleasure,” he told me. “The Catholic mystics embraced the concept of evolution as God’s consciousness at work in nature. You can see it in a garden. Before I leave today, I’ll take a soil sample of each flower bed and test them for you.”
    â€œIf you could just pull out some of the hostas for me and divide them, you could start working right now. There’s plenty to do here,” Linda said.
    â€œIt’s all about science.” He turned to me. “Science and religion make perfect partners.” He slurred the final
s
. I shot a wide-eyed look at Linda, but she ignored me.
    â€œI wrote down some ideas on how I’d like to see the beds arranged, if you want to come inside,” she told him. “Would you like iced tea or a glass of water?”
    â€œCaffeine is bad for my health.”
    Sitting at the dining room table, he shuffled through Linda’s copious notes listing her goals for the various gardens, her design ideas, and plants she wanted to try. He set the pages aside and pulled out a sheaf of his own from his manila envelope, which showed signs of starting to tear along one side. “You’re a writer,” he informed me. “I’ve been working on a brochure to get my business started. Mostly, I do volunteer work at men’s shelters.”
    He gave me a business card, which read, “Henry Murphy, Certified Master Gardener, Big Ideas for Every Space. The Purpose of Man on Earth Is to Glorify the Most High. Substance Abuse Counseling. Tax Preparation and Accounting Services. Leave a Message at the Just Around the Corner Bait Shop and Ammo Shack. Tell Them Henry Sent You.”
    â€œThat’s a lot to take in all at once,” I said.
    â€œWait until you see my brochure.”
    Linda grabbed the first page of her notes, while Henry offered me a copy of the most confusing promotional sheet I had ever seen.
    â€œHere are the things I would like done with each bed,” Linda said. “The plants that need thinning, the perennials I’d like to add, and suggestions for improving the soil quality.” Henry took the sheet from her and laid it on the table.
    â€œSo, what do you think so far?” he asked me.
    His promotional sheet mixed claims of various areas of expertise—from gardening to business administration—with quotes from Thomas Aquinas and Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. “Well, you might want to add something about your qualifications and the benefits you can provide your customers. And you would probably want to limit this particular piece to the subject of gardening. I’d downplay the philosophy.”
    â€œJust a second,” he told Linda, when he saw she was about to speak. “I have to write this down while it’s still fresh