Written by J. Mitchell Brown
Photography by Donna Huffman

’ve only been truly scared a couple of times in my life. I’m talking about truly, sweating in my palms, shaking in my boots scared. Oh sure, there was that time when my sister hid behind the island in the kitchen and jumped out and scared me so bad that I peed myself and cried, but that was just horsing around.

And I was really scared a few years ago when my wife, my father, and my best friend were taking delivery of a boat in Charleston and were to motor it back home to Bluffton. The day was pretty and we thought it would be a keen idea to run along the coast enabling us to make good time coming home.

The swells proved to be a bit more uncomfortable than we first imagined, so along Kiawah Island we decided to head in and sail the rest of the way down the Intercoastal Waterway. I pointed the bow of the boat towards the markers signifying the entrance of the channel and made the decision to cut on the inside of one of the markers.

The second I did this was the second I realized how bad a mistake I had made. With the tide at full ebb and an onshore wind, I quickly found myself in a virtual tempest of whitewater breakers that were easily topping out at six to eight feet. I was terrified that the boat would bottom out and break the feet off the motors and we would have to surrender ourselves to the mercy of the water. It was along about that time that the portside engine made a terrible groan and I noticed the tachometer go from registering 2700 rpm to 300.

I looked over at my Dad who had broken out in a cold sweat and was as white as the foam that was spilling off the waves that now surrounded us. He gripped the handrails and braced himself against the gunwale of the boat. My wife, who just a second ago was seated at the helm next to me was now airborne and screaming some obscenity that, quite frankly, I didn’t know she knew! And meanwhile, my pal Brian, a seasoned boatsman, was standing behind us with this ridiculous grin on his face going, “WHOO-HOO!” like he was on some ride at the midway! I full on expected him to release his grip and see how long he could stay in one place with his hands raised in the air.

My instincts took over and we powered through the boiling water and reached calmness in what seemed like an eternity. With wobbly knees, I looked back at the mess we had just traversed and took a deep sigh and thanked God for sparing me, regardless of what His reason was.

I looked at Brian and said, “Man, that was scary, huh?”

His response: “That was nothing! I knew this boat would make it the whole time! Remember, this boat can take more than you can.”

But that little tale pales in comparison to the level of bone-jarring fright that I felt just last week, and right here in downtown Bluffton.

Teddy McCracken called me several months ago and asked if I would be willing to address her gardening club. Before I could control my vocal cords, I had agreed. I had all but forgotten about my obligations until a recent dinner at her home.

“Mitch, The Bluffton Gardeners are meeting at the Methodist Church on Calhoun at 10:30 Monday morning. We’re so excited to have you speak !”

There are a lot of things I am not, but probably at the top of that list is Public Speaker. I feigned confidence as I responded, “Certainly, Teddy! I’m looking forward to the opportunity!” I felt ice pellets of sweat drip down my back.

I came directly home and began lamenting to my wife, “What have I gotten myself into? What in the world do these people want me to talk about? Why me?”

Laurie, in her ever angelic voice, lightly chided me and said, “You’re speaking to the Bluffton Gardeners, about your experience with flowers in your life, because you volunteered.”

I glowered at her and her sarcasm, but was instantly diffused by her polite, loving encouragement.

I spent the better part of the weekend jotting notes down. Seeing it on paper made me realize how superbly inept I think I am when it comes down to gardening. But one thing became as evident as a sunrise to me: I tended to be at my happiest when I was putzing around in Nature.

Monday morning came around and I sat in front of the TV watching The Price Is Right until the absolute last minute. Watching the television, let alone a game show, was proof positive to my wife that I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She led me to the door and like a mom to a kid going off to the first day of school, made me feel infinitely better by saying, “You’ll do fine. They’ll love you.”

I walked into the church behind a couple of ladies for whom I held the door open. I was glad to see I wasn’t the absolute last person to arrive. I saw Teddy sitting in the very front row of the fellowship hall and sidled my way down the side wall, trying my best to blend in with the electrical outlets and folding chairs. I stumbled and kicked a metal chair, causing quite the racket, and felt the collective stare at me as I interrupted who was speaking at the time. I never knew that your elbows had sweat glands until that point.

To make matters worse, there was a polite but heated discussion between a couple of ladies regarding the exact address of a former member who now resides down along the Mississippi or Alabama Gulf. All I could think of, was that if these ladies were this passionate about an address, then I was a dead man. They were going to tar and feather me for the babble I was about to spew in their direction!

Before I knew it, Teddy had risen from her seat and took the podium to introduce me as a Bluffton resident who grew up working in greenhouses on my grandfather’s farm and as a graduate of Clemson University, into which I entered to study horticulture. While it was all true, her words sounded like lies.

I quickly jumped behind the podium to partake of whatever shielding comfort a thin little metal stand could afford me. I looked out at the expectant eyes of 40 nicely dressed ladies. I recognized a few faces here and there, which made things even worse, for now people I know added to the pressure. Talking in front of a room full of strangers is bad enough, but add familiar faces to the mix and it becomes almost unbearable.

Immediately I warned my audience that they should only follow any advice or tidbit that they pick up from me with extreme caution. If my advice was followed it would almost mean certain death for your plants. I spoke of my upbringing, and my schooling, and how plants have always been a part of my life. I mentioned the things I’ve learned about myself and about life while in my garden or in the company of other gardeners. The conversation fell into an easy and relaxed rhythm as I realized that I was talking WITH fellow gardeners and not TO a panel of judges.

I wrapped everything up with a quote from Archibald Rutledge, in which he declares (quite accurately, I might add) that there are things in life that we don’t HAVE to have, like wildflowers....but that life is so much more precious because we do have them. We need shelter, food, clothing...but the beauty that comes from some things, like the song of the wind blowing or the perfume from a flower...well, our life is much more enriched because of it.

The ladies politely applauded me, though I felt undeserving of it, and complimented me after my little talk. I enjoyed an easy camaraderie among a newly extended family of fellow gardeners. And they allayed my fears.

Who could’ve imagined?

The Bluffton Gardeners welcome any and all gardeners and lover of plants to their meetings. If they can welcome me, a proven plant butcher, then anyone who knows that plants like water is welcomed to attend. Bluffton Gardeners meet on the second Monday of each month at 10:30AM in the fellowship hall at the Methodist Church on Calhoun Street. The entrance to the Hall is along Water Street.

Thank you ladies for inviting me to attend. And thanks for putting away the tar and feathers!