I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but something’s up. Why would those tricky devils at the Garden Writers Association derive so much pleasure from watching me perspire?
A little background: I joined and attended my first GWA annual symposium in 2008, when it was held in cool, drizzly Portland, Oregon. Since September is usually a hot month for Santa Barbara, I looked forward to traveling north, splashing in puddles and maybe having to wear a scarf!
What a great organization. Not only was I welcomed with open arms by the members and given the tools to launch my newfound career as a “real” writer, but they even provided a climate suitable for a banana slug like me.
Lots o' pics and plenty more words at FineGardening.com
Last year, it all changed – they had lured me in, then sprung the trap. My second GWA symposium was in Raleigh, North Carolina. The weather was gummy -- that’s “muggy” spelled inside out. It wasn’t all bad. There were lots of great people and great educational sessions, but then we’d get on a bus, tour a garden and I’d be reduced to a whimpering puddle of sweat.
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