Sixteen: A Garden Center is Born
Every time Cactus & Tropicals bought an adjoining lot, tore down a building, or added a greenhouse, the change was huge—almost like starting a new business. This purchase was no different. I decided to open a nursery or, as I prefer to call it, a garden center. An attractive, open fence surrounding vibrant green plants and the exotic color of annuals and perennials that would make waiting at the stoplight a pleasure for drivers. If that was stretching it, we could at least say it would be nicer to look at, more intriguing and inviting, than a lot full of broken-down cars. The corner would be our showcase, our bay window, and I was determined to make it beautiful.
When the environmental tests were completed and the land received a clean bill of health, I went to work hiring a garden center staff. I may sound full of myself, but one of my skills is hiring good people. The people I hired were knowledgeable and creative and they were excited about being part of this new endeavor. Once the position of the coming greenhouse was marked, they went to work: designing the general layout of the nursery, selecting the sun and shade areas, sorting the annuals from the perennials, and separating the evergreens from the dicots. Although the nursery space was small, they managed to lay out wandering pathways.
The whole staff was excited about a shipping and receiving department with its own entrance and company parking. No more snarls in the customer parking lot. We were just waiting for the pipe and the plastic—and Stu to arrive.
Buying a dilapidated gas station and replacing it with a nursery led to improvement of the whole intersection. Across from me on Twenty-seventh South, there was a three or four-acre lot that had had various enterprises on it for as long as I can remember. I recall going to a movie there as a child. When I bought the “little house” twenty-five years later, a Diamond Rental facility had taken over. Eventually, Diamond moved too, leaving the property abandoned. It had become an occasional place for break-ins, drug parties, and winter fires. Shortly after Cactus & Tropicals began the garden center buildout, a developer bought the abandoned Diamond Rental, demolished it, and built a really nice combined shopping/office center Kitty-corner from us, a Maverick gas station and convenience store opened. That killed the 7-Eleven across from me. The last time the 7-Eleven manager threw me a kiss, it was a kiss good-bye. That building remained abandoned for years, too, and we took advantage of the empty parking lot until the property was purchased by a book store. I like to think that as Cactus & Tropicals progressed and expanded, the entire business corner benefited.
Stu arrived mid-summer, and with the help of my nephews, delivery drivers, and any passing stranger with a day to spare, the fifth greenhouse was constructed. With a sliding door on the outside wall at the back, we had a dedicated delivery entrance. No longer would customers be trapped by delivery trucks in our small lot. Our own vehicles wouldn’t fill all the stalls. With the extra depth and width of the corner property, the added greenhouse barely made a dent in the new space.
After the new shipping and receiving department was finished, Stu stuck around and built the pergolas, shade structures, and a main gazebo for sales and customer service. The garden center was taking shape and developing a certain charm. Gazebos often have a weathervane or flag on the roof; I had a metal artist design a mosquito. We bought a dozen red Radio Flyer Wagons so customers could tow their plants around as they shopped.
I don’t know if it was whacky or wise, but I made up my mind to put in two koi ponds at the entranceway of the nursery. I wanted two ponds with a waterfall in between. I’d camped a few times near Pleasant Creek in Capitol Reef National Park, and I loved the sound of the water spilling over the rocks. I wanted the waterfall between the koi ponds to sound just like that—not a gurgle, trickle, or splash, but a murmur. I found a source for water plants: water hyacinth, lotus, duck weed and papyrus, and I wanted to add them to our sales mix.
I also found a professional pond installer who came with a backhoe. He dug two large holes, lined them with a rubber membrane, and carefully placed landscape boulders around the edges. Some of the boulders could serve as benches. It was fun to sit there and watch the koi, which were spectacular in color and leading busy lives in the pond. We sprinkled in some grasses and papyrus and other marsh plants in and out of the water. Power and plumbing were needed to circulate the water. It was complicated, but it was lovely, too.
Stu built a Japanese-style arched bridge, about seven feet long, that crossed the ponds just above the waterfall. You could stand on the bridge and listen to the murmuring water. It was magical. One evening after we closed, I invited a friend to sit by the pond with me to enjoy the serenity. The sun hung over the western mountains and a soft blue sky was fading to lilac. As we sat quietly listening to the sound of the water, we were startled by a pair of mallards who dropped straight from heaven. They crashed into the pond in front of us, splashing and quacking, and the four of us hung out together.
By midsummer, I had an uprising on my hands. The nursery staff hated the bridge—they wanted to beat it with a garden shovel. Every time they walked out of the gazebo, they had to “climb a mountain.” (That’s how they worded it.) They were sick and tired of hauling the Radio Flyers back and forth over the hump to the cash register. They wanted it gone, and they wanted the upper pond and waterfall gone too. Part of their argument was that we needed the space for plants. That was true. But I loved the waterfall. I tried to joke my way out of their misery but nothing I said came across as funny. They had probably complained about it before, perhaps several times, and since I wasn’t the one pulling the loaded wagons, I didn’t have much empathy. Apparently I didn’t even have good listening skills. They stood firm: the bridge and waterfall had to go. “But, but, but…” was all I could say. I called in the pond man.
Overall, with the addition of the corner property—landscape plants, annuals, and perennials now filling the space with color, the greenhouses visible from the street, and a new greenhouse (attached by the “Y” yoke) to serve as shipping and receiving—Cactus & Tropicals was bestowed with a bearing of wholeness or completeness. Not that it was finished. There was so much more to do, so many possible directions to go in, so many options before us. But now it was a business realized—more well-rounded, more mature. It smacked of professionalism.
We had a brand-new revenue source, too. Besides walk-in customers for outdoor plants, we had fresh sales and service to offer our commercial accounts. We didn’t provide a landscaping service, although we could have. Instead, we planted small gardens and flower beds, commercial and residential containers, fountains, entryways, and all sorts of jobs of this nature. We soon created a crew and bought a truck just for this.
The first winter we sold wreaths and Christmas trees. We put twinkling lights on the fence; the garden looked like a little elfin forest. Wouldn’t it be fun, I thought, to have a small campfire burning, marshmallows roasting, and a cup of hot apple cider for everybody? It was playful, especially for the kids, until some customers called to complain their tree—and now their living room—smelled like a forest fire. Oops! Won’t do that again.
Besides the exterior plants, we added another source of revenue: evening events. With such a large and beautiful place filled with greenery, flowering plants, fountains, wandering paths, and wonderful smells, it was gorgeous—perfect for weddings, birthdays, life celebrations. We began renting out the greenhouses several nights a week.