This is a commentary about a specific kind of quiet arrogance. It’s in the background, but you know it when you hear it. These people are “just reporting the truth,” as they may say. It’s not truth. It’s haughty arrogance, and I’ll tell you where I’ve run up against it recently.
The first is citrus arrogance. I planted a satsuma tree in my yard many years ago and it has never produced one satsuma. I talk to it, I water it, I play it Gloria Estafan. It’s leafy and broad and growing, but no fruit. When I ask gardeners, their arrogance explodes. “Oh man!” they say. “My satsuma tree is overcome with satsumas. I bag them and give them to family. Then I bag more and give them to neighbors. Then I bag more and leave them on my curb hoping someone will take them away. I can’t get close to the tree there are so many on the ground. You can probably see them from outer space. I have vitamin C poisoning. Even my dog is eating them,” and on and on. “You know,” I say, “you don’t have to boast so much about your dang tree.” “Hey! I’m just reporting the truth.” “Yes, a little too loudly” is my reply. My neighbor says his Satsumas taste like Starburst Fruit Chew candy, and he gets tired of eating them. Ugh.
Next are hummingbird people. “Do you have any hummingbirds yet?” they ask. “Yes,” I’ll reply. “The first one arrived a week or so ago. It’s a little female.” “Wow,” they shoot back. “I think I have fifty, maybe a hundred. I feel like I’m in some sort of war zone with so many hummingbirds flying by my face and the sounds of their wings. You’ve heard what one bird’s wings sounds like? Imagine a hundred buzzing all over the place. It’s a roar. I added a few more feeders to allow them to spread out but they brought in more hummingbirds. I think I have two hundred now, maybe a thousand. I can’t hardly go outside anymore. Aren’t they magical?” “Yes, like you disappearing right now would be magical.” “Hey! I’m just reporting the truth,” they say. Blech.
Finally, orchid people. I have a knotty cypress stump full of holes, and I want help turning it into an orchid planter, but having an orchid person in Alabama, Georgia, or Florida call me back with some advice is darn near impossible. “Ha!” I can hear them saying, “If he doesn’t know how to do that, he won’t learn it from me! Our orchid club is closed.” They can cite every orchid’s family, genus, and species articulated perfectly in Latin and they flash a look of contempt when you can’t do the same. It’s a club, and they’re quick to point out that you’re not in it, and they won’t tell you how to get in, and they won’t return your calls even if you leave several messages at the so called “Master Gardener Hotline,” which is a crock. They’ll deny it of course. “We’re not arrogant,” they’ll say. “We’re not hoarding information. We’re not trying to keep you out.”
Ha. I’m just reporting the truth.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.
