2019-06-16 - Native Whimsy

The rain makes it a slow afternoon at the garden shop; there are a few customers in the building proper, but only one or two wandering the greenhouses and gardens. August is getting some things sorted inside, stocking up the summer plants and refilling the bookshelves; Ully, who usually mans the register, is on lunch break in the back.

He could have waited for far better weather to make the trip out here, but Byron had a schedule that he was keeping and this tree shop was the next business on his list. With so few customers due to rain, his Rolls is parked as close to the building as possible, making the trip to the dry safety of the building not so taxing on him. Still, his umbrella is up for a time despite the short journey, so when he steps inside, he's tapping the wetness from out of it just as he gives the place a good look over.

What follows is a brief look over at the various plant life to be found here, taking interest in a few things or other. This does bring him to seek out someone who works in this place and that's when his gaze falls upon August. "Excuse me, I was actually hoping to find someone in management that I could talk to about a project that I'm working on."

August looks up from re-stocking the bottom level of a bookshelf, gives Byron a shrewd once over. He straightens, says, "That'd be me." Ully appears briefly in the back office window, August glances past Ully and shakes his head. Ully gives August and thumbs up and disappears again.

August refocuses on Byron. "Project, huh? You want to take a seat, or you mind if I keep stocking while you tell me?" He shifts a set of books to one side, bends over to take another handful of slot them into the shelf.

Thorne is dressed sharply in full business attire with a heavy coat thrown over it all to protect it from the PNW weather. There's his dripping black umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other. When told that August is indeed the right person to speak to, a smile crosses Byron's lips. He'd chosen correctly, it would seem. Then again, August was the only employee visible on entrance.

This is where he might extend a hand for a formal shake, but he can see that the man is busy, so he won't bother him with such formalities at the moment. "Great then. I'm Byron Thorne." An introduction, "I've been given permission to put together a festival that I'm planning for early to mid Fall of this year. I know, it's a last minute thing, but this will be the first year and if all goes well, there will be more to come."

A brief look is given all this work that August still needs to do, "Be my guest. Don't let me stop you from being both productive and efficient."

August couldn't look more different from Byron. His outfit is the polar opposite of sharp: faded jeans; a plaid flannel in white, red, and black; black work boots. "August Roen," he says by way of introduction. If he notes the lack of handshake, it's not obvious, as he's still shelving books. Or maybe he's not much of a hand shaker.

"Festival," he echoes, checking a book's spine and placing it in a different spot than the others. "So you looking for table pieces, or..." He glances at Byron, arches an eyebrow.

Byron knows that he agreed to give the other man space to do his work, but after setting down his umbrella to lean against the leg of a nearby table, his briefcase is lifted, then unzipped, so that he's now holding a folder in hand. "It's a pleasure to meet with you then, Mister Roen." He continues on wit his explanation, "This festival is one step towards transforming the town into something whimsical and pleasant, but let me start from the beginning. What I've proposed and the City Council is letting me run with, is a weekend long, town-wide Carnival. Like the one in Venice. A full time Masquerade for the weekend."

Now the briefcase is set down near the drying umbrella as he rifles through the folder, but from the label upon it, the folder and its contents were specifically sorted for this very establishment. "So what I'm trying to come up with is: How do I transform Gray Harbor into Venice?" With the folder being held in one hand, he has some papers with images in the other. Images of the Renaissance and things of that nature. "I was hoping that you could lend me some of your expertise on what sort of plants would help cast this illusion of Renaissance Italy?"

Seeing Byron open his briefcase, August pauses in the process of placing more books, setting them sideways on the shelf so he knows they're out of position so he can free up his hands. 'Whimsical and pleasant' has his other eyebrow going up in clear skepticism, though he withholds comment on that.

"Venice," he says, looking at the pictures. He scratches his beard, folds his arms. "There's a lot to think about there. We're a northwest coast--it's colder here than down there, they're in a, well, as we call it, Mediterranean climate zone. Warmer overall, dryer, milder winters, hotter summers. So the plants you pick have to tolerate both--more than tolerate, honestly, if you expect them to last. Now, there are some, common to Venice, we can have here. Italian cypress, rosemary, oleander. Think Southern California." He pauses there to see if Byron follows.

Not expecting an explanation on the difference of plant life in Italy when compared to weather in the Pacific North West, Byron blinks and nods along to everything said. He's more or less observing this man while taking in his expertise. "Authenticity is nice, but I wasn't planning on having everything picture perfect. Not in the sense of the kinds of trees and shrubbery that grows there. However, I do like your attention to detail."

Relinquishing his hold on the folder so that August can look at it all more thoroughly, he muses, "The look is definitely what we're going for, but also with an addition of our own little touches. What plants native to this area will give off this air of mystery and dream-like atmosphere?"

August makes a low sound, accepts the folder and starts looking through it. His attention is only half on the contents; he's clearly thinking through Byron's question. "We have a lot of gorgeous ferns that would work," he says, presently. "Tiger lillies would probably be perfect." He makes an offhanded gesture towards a stand of bulbs for summer, some of which are lilies with brilliant orange, recurved petals covered with black spots. "Something that attracts butterflies and hummingbirds would be good too, they probably have that...feel. And flowering vines."

He closes the folder, eyes it thoughtfully. "So is the aim to bolster tourism? Draw more people through in the summer? Or are you looking for permanent residents?"

This next batch of information that August gives him brings a pleased smile to Thorne's face. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Attracting butterflies, hummingbirds. Unusual looking plants are always interesting to the eyes. "As for what my aim is? All of the above, if I'm being honest. I am hoping that in time, it will help bolster our economy as a whole in the form of tourism and new residents." He then gestures to the folder which now belongs to Roen, "All of the legal documentation and permits can be found within that folder. For now, I'm trying to get the cooperation and sponsorship of as many local businesses in town that I can. As well as putting together a Carnival Committee , which in turn, is also a town beautification committee as well."

August folds his arms again, keeping hold of the folder. He studies Byron as he explains his goal, nods in agreement. "Well, doesn't sound like a bad idea. And I wouldn't mind having a project like this to list either." A small, wry smile. He's a business owner, after all. "Good for advertising." His gaze cuts aside as he thinks over the shop's upcoming schedule. "I can get you a proposed list with some photos maybe, next week. You can tell me what you like and don't, what you think's missing. We can get the orders set up, based on those delivery dates sort out what's going where, what kind of pots or beds they need, all that. Sound workable?" He tilts his head, adds, "Though, as always, I should warn you if we have a bad storm between now and then, things always get delayed. Either from the tree business getting swamped or losing plants to the weather." Another lift of his brows to see if any of that poses an issue for Byron.

"That would great!" Byron says with enthusiasm ringing in his voice. "I have some artistic minds who want to help decorate the town for the festival that will be looking your proposal over, but it seems that we're both on the same wavelength and I really like the ideas you've brought up so far."

Then August brings up the inevitable. Weather hazards. "The weather will always be my main concern. I'd love to hold the event in the summer, during the brief period of time where the skies actually clear, but I also want the atmosphere that comes with the cooler, gray Autumn months. Now, if you're good at predicting the weather, because you tend to plants," There's a vague gesture around them now, "I could use your expertise on that, to select the perfect weekend this year for the event. Otherwise, I'm consulting a meteorologist... or a copy of the Farmer's Almanac." He murmurs wryly. "But yes, I do understand that these things happen. I was born and grew up here, so I understand these issues clearly. It's just a part of Gray Harbor's charm."

August blinks at Byron's enthusiasm, faintly amused. "That's fine," he says of the artists. "I'm not a landscaper or designer of any kind. I can point you at what can survive and do well out here, not really pick the best colors for your theme." Despite the wording, his tone is neutral; he's selling plants, and Byron's interested in the right kind. That August is not the person to help a customer achieve a visual aesthetic is something August came to terms with ages ago.

He sighs, shakes his head. "I wish I was good at weather prediction, it'd make my life a lot easier. As it is, I get my information from the same place other average people do." A weather app on his phone, he probably means. "If you're talking to an actual meteorologist directly, you're way ahead of me." His eyes narrow. "So, you're local?"

"That's not a problem," Byron says, pulling out his phone to tap in a memo there, most likely in regards to this conversation today. "With your powers combined," he speaks of August and his artistic talents, "I'm sure that we'll have Gray Harbor looking like the set piece for a grand Masquerade before too long." There, done. The phone is slipped back into his coat pocket.

What he does say when told of this weather prediction thing is, "That's too bad. But yes, I'm reaching out to a meteorologist. As much as I wouldn't mind switching weekends depending on the year, I would like for this to be an annual event that others can prepare to visit a year in advance if necessary. We'll see how this goes, but I appreciate your willingness to help." Adding in, "The town and visitors alike will know where to go to get their hands on whimsical and interesting plant life. That's for certain."

At the last question posed and the narrowing of those eyes, Byron offers a subtle grin, "Like I said, born and bred. I did go away to L.A. for college, but now I'm back." A pause, then he asks, "And yourself?" He doesn't believe he remembers seeing August around when he was a child, but he wasn't terribly interested in plants then either.

"Annual, huh?" August considers the idea, eventually nods. "Could work out. We're known for the rain, not so much our mild summers--if it works out, you could coax people up here for that same way they get skiiers in Whistler."

To the question of being a local, August shakes his head. "Portland," he says, "then Seattle and Corvalis for school. Only moved up here three years ago. But I'm pretty familiar with the region." He turns the folder over in his hands, sets it on top of the bookshelf he was loading. "I have business cards if you want one, but I assume you've got everything in your phone."

"That's what we're hoping for." Byron says with a nod when August clarifies that Thorne expects this to be an annual event. "I just don't want people to think that this is a rip off of Mardi Gras. It will be so much different. Or... that's what I'm hoping for. And anyway, our town isn't large enough for a parade procession, so we'll need to come up with other events for everyone to look forward to. I want them to enjoy the historical beauty of our town with all the old homes. Everything. That and our town is full of mysteries." Once this is said, his eyes are already on August, seemingly looking him over. "And people have a fondness for these sleepy old fishing towns. So all of this combined with the mystery of a Masquerade, I'm hoping this will be the start of something beautiful."

With all that said, there's soon an 'ahh' when told where the man was from. "I'm glad that we'll have an expert looking after our greeneries then. A belated Welcome to Gray Harbor." There's a thoughtful pause when this business card is brought up. "I honestly don't mind receiving one. I like to keep things on file, but yes, I have your information at my fingertips as it is." He then finishes with, "Thank you for meeting with me today. I apologize for not calling earlier to let you know that I was visiting. I'll be waiting for your proposal when you're ready to send it. We still have a few months left before it's show-time."

August pulls out his wallet, fishes a business card out of it, offers it over. It's crisp and clean, from a new batch for sure, and double-sided, with opposing imagery forming a wrap-around design of a flowering dogwood branch on one side (for the garden shop) and a spruce branch (for the arboriculture business) on the other. The phone numers of different, as are the email addresses, suggesting a slight division of the work.

He resumes loading the bookshelf, starting with the books he'd set down earlier. "Towns and islands all up and down the coast do that kind of thing," he says. "Poulsbough, Bainbridge, Whidbey, Port Townsend, even Issaquah--they all have some kind of festival or fair to get folks into town. Works for them," he shrugs, "why not us."

He smirks at Bryon's description of him as an expert, but bobs his eyebrows at the welcome. "Thanks. Good to meet you. You want me to email the proposal, or you prefer it in print? I don't have a preference but," another of those shrugs, "some cusomters want it all in email."

The business card handed over to him, Byron observes it with mild fascination, reading off the text written upon it as well as admiring the images on display. He flips it over between his fingers, looking quite impressed. "Nicely done." In this exchange, he reaches deep into his his suit jacket's inner pocket to pull out a thin container in which he holds his own cards. While his are not as pretty as August's, it is professionally made. Rather than giving him a Bayside Apartments card, the name on this one merely reads 'THORNE'. It's his own company. The card itself is made of a thin clear plastic with the 'logo' written in a heavy gray hue. The rest of his information can be found beneath.

"Exactly, why not us?" He says of these other festivals. "Even if you sent it by email, I'll still print it out. So it's your call. I live at the Bayside Apartments complex," The incredibly expensive gated community, "So it's not too far a drive out. In fact, I think I'll just stop by. Pick up a few things for my terrace." Leaning forward, he gathers up his umbrella and briefcase, looking ready to open up the former. "Just give me a call when they are ready. And thank you again." With that said, he starts on his way out, to brave the heavy rains.

August fiddles with the card, curious about it being plastic, and the way it's just Byron's surname. Holding it up, he says, "Thanks," slips it into his wallet for safe keeping. "I'll get it printed up, make sure everyone knows where it is. When you come by, if I'm out in a truck, just ask anyone here and they'll know where to find it."

He narrows his eyes a little at the mention of Bayside, tips his head in the direction of the (currently rainy) outdoor collections. "Feel free to ask for suggestions if you want 'em when you drop by. We've got stuff for everything from studios to acreage and anything in between."

He watches Byron go, drums his fingers on the top of the bookshelf.

After a second Ully comes out of the back room, slipping on his apron. "So, are we flipping a coin for outside?" Ully asks with a bright smile. August rolls his eyes, gestures at the books. "I'll do it." He takes the folder and business card into the back office, comes out in his rain slicker, ready to face the rains himself. Into the outdoor collections he goes.