Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1)

Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1) by Karin Boutall Page A

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Authors: Karin Boutall
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bring in some
business.”
    “Let's
hope so. Blaine loved the design so much he said he wanted 'my
architect' to redesign the interior of his store.”
    “Your
architect? That would be me I suppose. Let's tell him we could jazz
it up a bit, but let's not change the feel of the place. Some people
consider the place almost sacred like a historical landmark.”
    Joan
shut the door against a hummingbird zipping around a feeder while Roz
dropped her gear behind the register.
    “Those
urns are so old. I think they came from a French pirate ship.”
    “Exactly,
some things just aren't replaceable, nor should they be.”
    “I
think he just wants us to visit him more often so he can hear good
stories, of course. And I told him a good tale yesterday. You know,
he's not concerned about our project getting started. He said that in
due time something good will come out of all our work.”
    Roz
grimaced. “I hope so, but this morning I drove by the library.
You should have seen it. It's a nasty weed garden after last night's
rain. That is nature's revenge, you know.” Roz chuckled. “It
could have looked fabulous if they'd let us in there. Oh well, guess
I should be grateful those thorny rosebushes are in bloom. They smell
grand.”
    Joan
smiled while she straightened the rack of Lindsey's garden calendars.
“I say we let the idea rest for a while. Anyway, aren't you
scheduled to redo the French Bakery?”
    “I
start next week. Been there several times and have the plans in
place.”
    “Will
you use a soft coastal or heavy ornate design?”
    “I'm
going to leave it soft. Their cakes and pastries are ornate enough
for the entire place.”
    At
the sound of chimes, Joan dipped into her apron pocket, pulled out
her cell phone and answered the call. She listened quietly for
several minutes, said thank you, and hung up.
    “That
was George Peterman,” she said in a steady voice.
    “Well
goody for him, he can use a phone,” Roz smirked.
    “He
said the planning committee is holding a special meeting next week.”
    “Big
deal.”
    “And
even though Sara can't make it, he assures me the planners can make
decisions in her absence.”
    “So
what's that got to do with us?”
    “He
asked if we would be willing to meet again and give them our full
presentation.”
    Roz
dragged her fingers through her hair, but a few strands remained out
of place.“God, not again.”
    “He
sincerely apologized.”
    “Well,
we did leave the stuff in the trunk of my car.”
    “And
he said a few members are aware of our plans and want to push this
forward. I think we should consider it even though I would almost
rather start the box gardens here like Zack suggested. I guess I
don't care what they do. We can move ahead no matter what.”
    “I'm
thinking the same too. It just doesn't matter. This will work. Funny,
now that it's not so important to us, we'll probably get them
approved”
    “I
believe so and I'm glad we waited before calling people. So we're
game?”
    “Deal.”
Roz lifted her mug, clinked it against Joan's then gazed at the
sky.“Just look at that blue sky with only a few white clouds.”

Chapter 9

    Sunday rose
to skies clear and blue. The Mississippi Sound was as smooth as a
reflection mirror. Joan had promised Zack a trip to the Air Force
base where his father had been stationed. Fortunately, the morning
was quiet with little traffic. Along the way they saw a fisherman
casting nets, a lone grey crane standing in a clump of tall grass and
a group of pelicans gathered on a pier. The morning was calm and a
perfect day for some reminiscing.
    Near the base, they stopped and lingered at the beach. It stretched
for miles and curved gently, like the edge of a fine crystal vase.
Ripples lapped against the shore. Zack waded at the water's edge
hunting for shells. Across the sound, the barrier islands were in
clear view. The view was so broad and deep it was as if they could
see the earth's curve. It was easy to imagine his father

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