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a different kind of string theory

On Monday, L. and I went to H & E Nursery. We had some time to kill after dropping off The Babyhead and before Brahma Bull opened up, and we’d left Barnes and Noble too early because there was a creepy guy, creeping me out. Really we just went to the nursery to walk about and in the back of my mind, I vaguely wanted some Irish Moss to put near our redwood tree. Our back yard has a lot of shade and is a little on the dark and dank side, and moss is pretty.

I went a little crazy, because it was a gorgeously springtime in Fresno kind of day. We checked out everything, every rose, every fruit tree, everything. Every koi. As I wondered aloud to L., “I wonder if you can eat koi?” two large specimens gave us dirty looks and swam away. Apparently, koi have no sense of humor. I wouldn’t really eat them. After all, we were going to Brahma Bull.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I got the moss, alright, but I also got a lilac tree, a big bag of potting soil (L. laughed when I said we didn’t have a lot of dirt. But we don’t!), and a spade. Like I couldn’t use a spoon or a shovel, but I was on a roll.

What I really fell in love with, though, was this.

Flowering Quince

I mean, come on. So I’ll be making a trip back to H&E in the very near future. I’m not sure if I’ll get the light pink and very Japanese looking one, or a darker one, like what my mom has. They do really well in Fresno. My mom’s grows like a weed, and I suppose I could probably take a cutting, but I don’t feel like babying a little stick. I want to plant a big glorious flowering thing into the ground. Gosh, how American.


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