A greenhouse aisle is a path between two benches where plants are living.Its a path worn by generations of my ansesters. Its the place I wanted to be at all times. My granddad allowed me to follow him. after supper i would trot along as he closed the vents, checked the temperature. My favorite was when i was old enough to help ” pull the black cloth” A black cloth os pulled over plants suspended above the plants by wires . this is to give the plants a short day. this is to either induce a bloom or set one depending on the plant and time of year.
Every season brought a new thrill in the aisle. towering snapdragon, watching poinsettia color up from september to christmas. There was always an adventure. i was eye to eye with the cob webs under the bench. the massive pipes under the bench banged and tinged with noise as the hot water ran through to heat the greenhouse in the winter. The dropped soda cans where collectible items to get a nickel for, and best of all where the cigarette butts not fully smoked. don’t tell.
Now as i walk the aisle i see my grandfather and his father and my uncles and cousins. all working in the greenhouse doing the very tasks i do. it’s a comfort. in grief, to know that there is this generational connection in the aisle.