I work at a greenhouse that was first built in the 1920's.
The original owners, a husband and wife team, bought a huge chunk of land, built a home, and built a business.
One small greenhouse became two, then five. A much larger home than the tiny one set behind the initial greehouse was constructed, and John and his wife moved into this house next door. (There are photos of the main behind-the-scenes greenhouse in a few books circa 1960 or so.) And at some point in the expansion, over 50 years ago, a woman named Mary entered the picture.
Mary has never known anything except farming. She didn't complete school; she was pulled out somewhere in junior high school to help out the family. She married fairly young, and she and her husband were given the option by John to come work for him with the benefit of living for free in that tiny now-vacant house.
The couple moved in. Mary's husband helped maintain the sprawling grounds, keeping the property looking like a park behind the greenhouses. Mary not only cared for the plants, she also washed the sidewalks out front once a week as John's housekeeper washed the windows of the main greenhouse. Workdays started around 6:30AM for Mary - they still do - and talking to her today, you can still see how proud she was of what used to be. Fingers gnarled from gardening for over half a century, her back stooped, this woman is absolutely inspiring. She works 7 days a week, roughly 8 hours a day, with a lunch break so she can go take care of her husband; she never misses a day of work, sick or not; she radiates a grandmotherly kind of love; and she rarely asks for help with anything...unless it's something hanging overhead.
When they could afford to do so, Mary and her husband bought some property on the other side of the greenhouse and had a home built there for themselves and their kids - and, today, their grandkids. The again-vacant tiny house became a storage facility (as I understand it) - looking around, you can see evidence of past organization under the layers of current management's chaos. "It hurts me, to see it that way," Mary says softly when asked about it.
John's wife (whose name escapes me) became ill. He hired another Mary to come take care of her. This Mary, married with children of her own, has been a nurse for most of her life, starting with caring for her parents. Like Mary 1, she has only known one vocation.
I'm not sure when exactly John sold the business to Bill, my boss, and
his wife; it may have been as John's own health started to decline after his wife's death. He certainly had sold off some of the land to another family whose home can just be seen from the very back of the outside greenhouse. Mary 2 moved in to provide full time home care; eventually, after too many trips and stays in the hospital, John said to Mary 2, "No more. Take me home." It was there that he passed away, leaving his home to Mary 2 and her family, whom he had come to love as if they were his own extended kin.
Knowing the history of the business makes the layout of the area make more sense. The curved driveway that connects the sprawling house to the left of the nursery and is now partially obscured by tables full of plants; the very-much-rundown home that sits behind the main greenhouse and houses stacks of papers, years' worth of unused seed, and varied gardening supplies; the almost-visible second cash register stand, now mostly covered with grapevine wreaths - I have loved learning about their history and coming to understand what seems to be quirky architecture.
Sometimes I'll hear customers talking about John and how he gave his home to his nurse, and how he started this business so many years ago. It's interesting to see that, though he's been dead for a few years now, his life still affects this tiny town.
"They were good people," Mary 1 says when speaking of her past employers. "They both were simply some of the best people I've ever known."
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