The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Three of the garden club officers (Elizabeth Lacy, president; Ophelia Snow, vice president; and Verna Tidwell, treasurer) were holding an early morning business meeting in the clubhouse kitchen to discuss the results of the recent Dahlias garden club tour and plant sale, held at the beginning of June, when the gardens were at their peak.

Twice a year, the Dahlias—Darling’s only garden club—invited the public to tour their famous gardens. They charged a small admission fee and donated the money to the town’s relief fund, where it was needed and welcomed. The Depression had hit Darling hard. Businesses had failed, people were out of work, and those who had nothing needed all the help they could get. Of course, it went without saying that nobody wanted to be on government relief. They were all used to working hard and making their own way in the world, and taking money when you hadn’t earned it was a terrible blow to a person’s pride.

But people did what they had to do to keep their families together, and if that meant accepting help from neighbors and friends . . . well, that seemed somehow different from accepting handouts from Uncle Sam—and better. For one thing, it wasn’t called relief, it was called “community assistance.” For another, it was a comfort to know that their fellow townspeople cared and were willing to pitch in and help where they could. It meant they weren’t alone.

Still, in such dire times, it would be easy to say that the town could do without a garden club. Who cared about pretty flowers when mothers couldn’t afford to buy milk? But the Dahlias had proved themselves to be a valuable asset to Darling. Their vegetable garden helped to feed the town’s hungry families (on both sides of the L&N tracks). The flowers they tended on the courthouse square kept people’s spirits from flagging. And their garden tours raised money for the relief fund. Nobody could say that the Darling Dahlias’ interests were purely decorative.

“One more item,” Liz reminded them. “The flowers for the Miss Darling float.” The Fourth of July parade was coming up next Wednesday, and the Dahlias were responsible for decorating the float that would carry Miss Darling and Little Miss Darling. This year, it would be a special treat to decorate the float, since Violet’s and Myra May’s daughter, Cupcake, had been chosen as Little Miss Darling. “Earlynne is in charge of this project. She asked Myra May to call all the club members and remind them that we need their contributions early that morning. If they don’t show up by nine o’clock, we can’t guarantee that we’ll use their stuff.”

“I hope Myra May remembers to tell people that potted plants—especially marigolds and zinnias and begonias, annuals with lots of color—are better than cut flowers,” Verna remarked. “Especially if it’s windy.” One year, they had decorated the float entirely with cut flowers and the wind made a mess of everything.

“I’m bringing three big ruffled ferns,” Ophelia said. “They’ll make a nice display around the throne. And Aunt Hetty promised her parlor palm—the same one she brought last year.”

“Sounds good,” Liz said. “We need rain, but let’s hope it doesn’t rain on our parade. The kids always look forward to it. I hate to see them disappointed.”

“The WALA weather forecast said we could get thunderstorms today,” Ophelia said. “That big storm south of Mobile—the one that crossed Florida and ended up in the Gulf—is predicted to head inland.”

“Maybe it’ll break the heat,” Verna said, pushing her hair off her forehead. “It’s another hot one.”

The business part of their meeting finished, the officers could relax and chat. Ophelia brought a plate of old-fashioned jam thumbprint cookies to the table. Liz, who was wearing a yellow voile dress with cap sleeves and peasant-style embroidery, put their papers away. And Verna took a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator.