Unbridled lust

I'll bet that title got your attention.

Now get your mind out of the gutter. I'm talking about the green-eyed lust that gardeners suffer from, particularly in spring, particularly at plant sales.

I saw it in everyone's eyes this past weekend at the HPSO plant sale. Had I held a mirror up to my face, I would have seen the same chlorophytic affliction echoed in my eyes. Like a bloodhound sniffing out the trail, we zero in on the "it" plant in a frantic attempt to get one before all of them are gone. With smug glee, we hoist our plants into our arms. Aaaahhh, mission accomplished. But our appetite is only temporarily assuaged, if at all. The desire we see in fellow gardeners' eyes stokes our fires and we're off on the hunt again.

Visits with friends are pleasant but temporary interruptions. We hope they don't notice that we are only giving them part of our attention. We can not help ourselves; our eyes dart about, scanning others' flats of plants and vendors' booths, mentally adding to our list and eager to start the pursuit again. Of course, our friends don't notice. Their eyes are also flitting around the room. Our glances behave like partners in a dance, slipping from resting upon each other simultaneously to careening away again. The botanic pull gains strength and ends conversations abruptly as we scatter to follow our hearts' desire of the moment. No one feels pangs of guilt; we barely notice.

Finally, our pace slows. We have accumulated more plants than we can carry and we've maxed our budget. We reach satiation. Our faces relax and lose the madmen demeanor. We know it will return with the next sale. There is no cure, only treatment, willingly accepted, for this condition. See you at the next plant sale. I'll be the one with the glassy, green glare.