There are weeks when I arrive at Sylvia Pass Nursery with a plan. I know exactly what I’m going to do. The greenhouse needs tidying, a new shipment of plants has to be unpacked, a customer wants advice on a struggling fiddle leaf fig, and somewhere in the middle of it all I convince myself that this will finally be the day I drink a cup of coffee while it’s still hot.
Then life smiles, folds its arms, and completely changes the script.
This week my nursery quietly transformed itself into a courier company.
Not overnight. It happened so gradually that I didn’t even notice. One customer asked if I could deliver an indoor plant. “Of course,” I replied. I carefully loaded it into my little NP200, Toyata Yaris ( year im calling her a bakkie) making sure it was snug and comfortable. You’d swear I was driving royalty instead of a Monstera.
Then another delivery came in. Then another. Then another.
Before long, my poor NP200 Toyota Yaris looked less like a work vehicle and more like a botanical escape attempt. Plants were occupying the passenger seat, leaves were brushing the roof lining, and every time I turned a corner I found myself apologising to a Calathea as if she’d complain to management.
If another driver peeked through my window, I’m convinced they thought I had started transporting sections of the Amazon rainforest around Johannesburg.
And I absolutely loved it.
There’s something incredibly satisfying about delivering a plant to someone’s home. You ring the bell, the door opens, and suddenly you’re not handing over a pot with leaves. You’re delivering excitement. You’re delivering a new beginning. You’re placing something alive into someone’s home, something that might greet them every morning for the next ten years.
Plants have a strange way of becoming family. They quietly witness birthdays, renovations, heartbreaks, celebrations, lazy Sunday afternoons and everything in between. Long after you’ve forgotten where you bought your lounge suite, you’ll still remember the fiddle leaf fig standing proudly in the corner.
I get to be part of that story. That’s quite a special feeling.
Then, just as I thought my week couldn’t become any more interesting, the landscapers started calling.
“Hi Terry, do you have this shrub?” “Can you get compost?” “Do you stock topsoil?”
Now you’re talking my language.
I don’t know why, but supplying landscapers excites me. Maybe it’s because I don’t just see bags of compost and trays of plants. I picture what they’re about to become. A dusty piece of ground transformed into a garden. An empty entrance becoming a welcoming driveway. AND come on Landscapers bring in my targets to keep open.
Gardens begin long before the first flower blooms. They begin with someone loading soil onto a trailer. So this is my official advert.
Dear landscapers…
I’m here.
I’ve got plants.
I’ve got soil.
I’ve got compost.
I’ve got everything you need.
Well… almost everything.
I originally wanted to say I’ve got coffee too, but then I’d be lying because if you arrive expecting a cappuccino, you may leave with a bag of compost instead.
Close enough.
Now, because I wanted to impress everyone and because I genuinely appreciate every customer who chooses Sylvia Pass Nursery, I delivered everything free of charge this week.
Before the rumours start… Let’s just clear something up. Free delivery was this week’s special.
The second trip?
You’re paying.
Diesel has become rather attached to my bank account lately. If things carry on at this pace, I might actually need to hire someone. Can you imagine that interview? “So… tell me about your experience.” “I’ve got none.” “Excellent.” “However, I can fit seventeen plants, three bags of compost, two watering cans and somehow still find room for myself.”
“When can you start?”
I have to admit though, this weather has been spoiling us.
Winter has arrived with surprisingly good manners this year.
Every morning I walk through the nursery while the sun is still low enough to paint everything in soft gold. The greenhouse feels warm without being hot. The leaves catch little drops of water that sparkle for a few moments before disappearing. Freshly watered soil releases that rich earthy fragrance that no expensive perfume company has ever managed to bottle.
There is something incredibly calming about that smell.
It’s warm.
It’s familiar.
It’s comforting.
Sometimes I wander through the greenhouse before customers arrive and simply enjoy the silence. The only sounds are birds outside, the occasional drip from a hanging basket and leaves gently brushing against one another whenever a breeze sneaks through.
If peace had a scent, I’m convinced it would smell like damp potting soil.
Next week we’re already in the middle of July.
How did that happen?
Wasn’t it Easter about three Tuesdays ago?
Which brings me to one of my favourite gardening jobs…
Rose pruning.
Now I know many of you look at your roses every winter with exactly the same expression I wear when technology asks me to update something.
Confused.
Nervous.
And slightly suspicious.
Every year I hear the same questions.
“What if I cut too much?”
“What if I don’t cut enough?”
“What if I kill it?”
“What if my rose never forgives me?”
The poor roses must think we’re the most indecisive species on earth.
We happily trust a hairdresser to remove twenty centimetres of our own hair without blinking, yet we stand in front of a rose bush debating one tiny branch for half an hour.
So I’ve decided we’re going to learn properly.
Not from Google.
Not from someone’s cousin’s neighbour who once owned a rose.
Not from a thirty-second video where someone says, “Just cut here,” without explaining why.
I’m inviting a rose expert to Sylvia Pass Nursery so we can all learn together.
We’ll spend a morning walking through the nursery, secateurs in hand, asking every question we’ve ever wanted to ask. We’ll learn where to cut, why we cut there, what should stay, what should go and how to encourage stronger, healthier roses that reward us with beautiful blooms when spring finally arrives.
The best part about gardening has never been getting everything right.
It’s learning.
Every season teaches us something new.
Sometimes it’s patience.
Sometimes it’s humility.
Sometimes it’s simply remembering to water before your plants start filing complaints.
So, if this sounds like something you’d enjoy, let me know.
If enough people are interested, I’ll organise a date and we’ll spend the morning surrounded by roses, good conversation, plenty of laughter and hopefully leave feeling a lot more confident than when we arrived.
As always, thank you for supporting Sylvia Pass Nursery.
Whether you’ve bought one little succulent, filled your trailer with compost, shared one of my posts, recommended us to a friend or simply popped in for a chat, you’ve become part of this little journey.
Every week this nursery grows a little more.
Not just because the plants do.
Because of the people.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
See you all at Sylvia Pass Nursery soon.
— Terry
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