The joy of houseplants?

There are times when the simplest of tasks becomes far more complicated than it should be. So it was last Saturday when I headed to our neighborhood hardware store in search of a large bag of potting soil.

The task at hand involved transplanting a pot-bound Dracaena into a much larger container. I found some potting soil down cellar, but I didn’t think I had enough to get the job done, and I didn’t want to shift gears in mid transplant to run out for more. 

So I headed to the hardware store in advance. A big-box home-improvement store might have been a safer bet, but I like to shop in the neighborhood whenever possible.

The store only had small bags of potting mix on display, but the clerk invited me to visit the basement with him in search of potting soil. After we negotiated a seemingly endless series of stairs, twisting hallways and multiple storage areas, we finally entered a locked room in the very bowels of the store. I half expected to find catacombs.

Alas, there were neither human remains nor bags of potting soil in this subterranean den. Grass seed, fertilizer, topsoil, more potting mix, but no potting soil.

“Let’s go outside and check there,” the clerk said. The store piles mulch and paving stones and other seasonal supplies at the edge of the parking lot during the warmer months, but I didn’t realize some of this stockpile stays put throughout the winter as well. Sure enough, there were several pallets of stuff out there, but our methodical search turned up no potting soil.

Finally, we arrived at the last pallet. There, buried under mounds of snow, were three large bags of potting soil. Partially frozen potting soil. Potting soil that wouldn't be usable for a while.

We cleared the snow from the top bag and the clerk carried it inside to ring it up. Only then did we notice that the bag was torn in at least two places, probably because it had been stored outside for so long, and through all kinds of weather. The clerk used a stapler to patch up one hole, and several pieces of tape to close off another one.

By this point, it was obvious that the bag was not only frozen but muddy and wet. When I told the clerk I was going to go home and change coats before hauling my purchase out to the car, he offered to carry it out for me.

I quickly moved the car closer to the door, but as I waited, there was no sign of the clerk. So I parked the car and headed back inside, only to find the clerk applying still more bandages to the bag’s wounds.

With the patched up bag on board, I finally headed home, changed my coat, lugged the damp and dirty bag into the house and propped it up in the entryway to thaw. Heading upstairs, I then moved the Dracaena from the old pot to the new one, only to discover, in the end, that I already had just enough potting soil on hand to get the job done without opening the new bag.

Maybe I should stick with African violets, or some other compact plant that won't outgrow its britches.