Excerpt

Samantha Blacks diary begins on March 19, 2003, just as the winter is beginning to break in Mississippi. She has decided to keep a diary so that she can have an accurate record of her garden designs, plant names, plant failures, and plant successes. She even decides to be honest and to write down the amount of money and time that she spends thinking about and working in her garden. If her husband, David, truly knew what was going on inside and outside of her garden, he would definitely put an end to her quest of becoming a master gardener.

As Sam mingles with other flower enthusiasts, she becomes privy to the secrets of the pros. She uses tried and true gardening techniques and old wives tales to encourage her flowers to flourish. On one occasion, in the retail store that she often frequents, she could overhear people saying that the temperature was going to be at least 32 degrees. The old white men were speaking about the temperature as if the apocalypse was about to occur. The old white women were speaking about the temperature in a whispered serious tone as if a reported rapist was on the loose in the area. The old black men were speaking about the temperature as if a runaway slave was on the verge of being caught. And the old black women pretended to be busy as they leaned their ears in the direction of the conversation, but kept their eyes busy enough to fool one into thinking that they were not listening.

There is a continuous stream of news recounting every detail of the war that started in Iraq on the same day as she started her diary. It is also the first night without her husband who stormed out on her and the kids in an imagined jealous rage. I know he will be back by the weekend and the episode will not be mentioned again. I wish he were here now, but then he would have something to say about todays purchases.

The war continues, as do Sams flower purchases and hopes for garden success. Each of her purchases are meticulously written in her diary and planted into the ideal spot in her garden. She reflects on her own time spent in the first Gulf War and the warnings that if a woman was ever to be taken as a hostage by the enemy, that she should accept the fact and expect to be raped by many and often.

Sam presses on as the season progresses. My eyes are so red. There is so much pollen in the air and on the cars. The doctors have told me time and time again to stay inside during pollen season because my sinuses are so bad. Each spring when I am forced by my husband or my aching head to go to the doctor, I am told the same thing, stay in doors. It is no ones business if I want to do something that I know will cause me pain. I am a fool for flowers, so shoot me. I think I am just allergic to my makeup.

Each and every day she waits for the one glorious day when all of her flowers are in bloom at once and all of the weeds are dead; the perfect garden day. Sam has chronicled the day that she titled the attack of the snake day and the attack of the lizard day. But the day that is named the attack of the birds day is something completely different. As soon as I told Aunt Lynn about the birds she said, shaking her head as if she were trying to repel what I was telling her, those were death birds. I heard about them when I was young and I have lived through it myself. Tears were forming in her eyes and chills were running up and down my spine. When my husbands aunt, you remember Sue dont you? She didnt wait for a reply. When I was caring for Sue and she was drawing her last living breaths, there was a bird that perched outside of her window and watched her dying on the bed each morning. I did everything to shoo that bird away and if I had had a shotgun, I would have shot that black devil bird. His black eyes would follow me as I washed her face each morning and change her clothes and bed. It would not leave. Sometimes it would come close and perch on the windowsill. It wasnt a week before poor Aunt Sue died. Aunt Lynn threw herself on my shoulder just like she was saying her final goodbye to me. I said a quick prayer and tried to put the thought out of my mind, but I had heard about the death birds before too. Sam knows the power that superstition has in the Deep South and she also knows the power of God. She keeps a vigilant watch out for disaster and a prayer in her heart. When the omen of the death birds becomes reality for Sam and her oldest daughter Rose, there was never a doubt of what the outcome would be. She just never knew how many people would be affected by the omen.

Ever the optimist, Sam takes a chance and enters her county fair with roses that are the best she has ever had in her garden to date. Beaming with pride, she asks her middle daughter, Lillie, to join her in setting up her prize-winning flowers. I went to the fair with such high hopes. I was up at 6:30 a.m. raring to go. I talked Lillie into helping me carry my entries to the fair. I took two steps inside of the building and saw the most glorious hybrid tea roses already on display. The colors were brilliant. The form of the blossoms and the leaves were flawless. Those roses made mine look like they were homeless. If Lillie had not been there with me, I would have tucked tail and ran back to the anonymity of my car. I was out of my league.

Even if you are not a flower lover like Sam, you will enjoy her witty, nature based philosophy on life, you cant trust people who do not have any flowers in their yard. Or her novel approach to making prisoners of war spill their guts put them in an escape proof room filled with those blood-sucking mosquitoes and I bet you they will talk. Or even, bill collectors are like weeds. Weeds entangle themselves with plants and compete for every drop of goodness I offer my preferred plants. I hate bill collectors and I hate weeds. I wish that I could get rid of them both. Sam allows the reader, for a year, to step into the life of a wannabe gardener and to understand why she believes that people are flowers and to me, flowers are people.