And what a sweet, quiet little weekend it was too. We had lunch with friends, one of whom suggested we head over to a nursery because they have an excellent coffee bar there. That, I think, is San Francisco at a glance. No experience is complete without espresso. But because there is no nursery I would every turn down, we were off. The place is called Flora Grubb, which has to be the greatest name for a plant purveyor ever, plus it turns out to be the real name of the owner. She was very sweet, too.
They specialize in vertical assemblies of succulents, big hangings that are like abstract paintings. Did I mention the old Edsel they’ve turned into a planter, with a big ass palm tree bursting through the rook and the engine block turned into a cactus garden? Totally too cool. With lattes.
And EXPENSIVE, bitches. I bought two dahlias, a small cypress, an agave and a pot and it was $140. Onehundredandfortyfuckingdollars. Had I dropped that much at the cheap little nursery I usually go to, I wouldn’t have been able to fit it all in the car.
Still, I’m glad we went. The whole thing appealed to me like an excellent art museum, but even better cause, you know, gardens. With lattes.