Wanted: women's plaid flannel shirt, size six

Tonight I became a card-carrying member of the Metchosin Garden Club.

I paid my five dollars and sat in a church basement to listen to a well-seasoned gardener talk about all things bulbs, corms and tubers. Her talk was complete with a slide show, handouts and sly garden humour (did you know that Allium are downright promiscuous, spreading their seed everywhere?)

As I sat listening from my grey metal chair at the back of the room, peering around the bodies in front of me to get a clearer view of that lovely Dog-toothed Violet on the portable screen, I couldn't help but notice the size of the shoulders around which I was peering. Some were worthy of line backers. Egads! and these were on the women.

Don't misunderstand. At break time, everyone was more than welcoming, wanting to know how long we've been living in Metchosin, where exactly we live ("Oh, did you buy Ruth and David's old place?" "Yes." "You are so lucky. It's such a great place! Are you renting out the suite?" and so on), where we moved from and why we chose Metchosin. But I couldn't help noticing a similarity among these women (and of the 25 or so people gathered in that church basement, 22 or 23 were women): there was a lot of plaid flannel in the room.

As we chatted over the ginger cookies and oat snaps that were on offer from the scheduled "coffee treat person", it became apparent that almost everyone in attendance has been living in Metchosin for at least 20 years. And 20 years has taught them one thing, if nothing else: deer will try to eat almost anything. And in 20 years, these women have tried every plant known to to the seed catalogues and obscure mail-order nurseries. Year after year, they have optimistically donned their flannel and wool and rubber boots and ventured out into the rain and wind and worked their soil, hoping that this time, they will beat the nibblers.

So, perhaps, in the process of developing their gardens they have developed large shoulders to be able to carry the quantity of optimism needed to keep trying. And if they choose flannel for their uniform, so what? Perhaps it's not being worn by the cool kids on the block, but clearly, for these practical and pragmatic women, it works. And, as I suspect they know something of Metchosin that I don't, I'm not going to be overly critical of their fashion choices. Who knows? Perhaps I'll find that there is room for plaid flannel in my own closet.

But I will keep an eye on the size of my shoulders.