My last trip to Rosemeyer's Plants. By Eddie Brater lll.

I was too late, to say the least, to get many plants. The place had been picked clean. It was the second to last day of closing, and I was just stopping by for one last look and whiff of the place where many years of springtime memories stacked up upon themselves.

My earliest memories of Rosemeyer's plants was getting lost in the bright indoor jungle while my Mom and Dad shopped; Mom for flowers, and Dad for his vegetable plants. I remember the sound of my own name being called throughout each greenhouse as my Mom tried to locate me when she was finished. It was my job to help cart the boxes of plants out to the “Damn Rambler”. (The well deserved nickname of our finicky running car).

Earlier this year when I came to get my cool season plants like cabbage and broccoli, and lettuce and radish seeds and onion sets, it was I, hollering around for my own progeny, my 11 year old Son, to help me cart my purchases out to the truck. He was no easier to find, nor faster to respond to any calls than I was as a kid. Understood. The place is magical.

The construction of the physical building is absolutely perfect in it's un-perfectness. A cracked glass pane here and there, old garage doors and other slabs of wood being used for doorways and as ways to tie two areas together, and the general, earthy, simple methods used for the sake of effectiveness over too much concern for aesthetics. There are no sharp corners anywhere in the place. Every edge of every surface has been worn to round. The edge of the counter top is rounded and dark brown from decades of plant loving shoppers placing their goods on it, and then leaning forward to enjoy some homey conversation about any number of gardening or landscaping topics. The door jams that lead from one area to another are polished and shiny from the thousands of hands laid upon them by shoppers navigating the tropical maze of greenery over the years.

On this second to last day ever, the spirits of the owner and the helpers was never the less, pleasant and as cordial as ever. I think the sadness of closing down was kept under the surface by the buzzing excitement that accompanies the final end to any great thing. As sad as it might be, there was a sense of triumph and excitement in the air for the journey completed. An end to great things can mean the beginning of other great things.

My plant purchase for the day was a single lonely black bell pepper plant. I have all other colors going this year except for black, so why not. I just wished there was something I could take with me to remind me of the place, and to rekindle my memories of the place from when I was a kid. Then I had a thought. I went outside and looked up at the front of the building. There it was. The sign that has welcomed all the local folks for many years. ROSEMEYER'S PLANTS, it said. Simple and completely effective. I walked back in and made Ron a quiet offer into his ear. I was fairly sure, that by the sign still being there, he had turned down a few offers for it already. Could I be the only to have thought about purchasing the old sign ? It seemed unlikely. Ron gave me a big smile and entered into a brief moment of deep thought. “Deal”, he said.

Either I was the first to think of it, or maybe my offer was better. I didn't ask which. I wrote the check and had Mary write me out a receipt, (so I would not be arrested for vandalism if no one but the keen eye of the West Harrison police were around when I went back to pick it up)

I will miss this place immensely. I will think of it whenever I shop at any other greenhouse. I will think of it when I see the old sign, that I plan to preserve and hang up somewhere in plain sight on my property so others can make the trip back in mind and memory when they see it.

Rosemeyer's Plants. 1947-2008.