Plantnapping in Franklin, New Hampshire

"Have thieves no conscience? No love of beauty ... the plants were powerless I tell you!"

06/30/2008

To Whom It May Concern,
I realize that the mere action of writing this letter is in vain, as the individual(s) who perpetrated the heinous crime on my poor unsuspecting plants undoubtedly is illiterate, and thereby will not read of my outrage. All this being said, I share this letter as a warning to other unsuspecting homeowners in the greater Franklin area … beware, there is a thief amongst us … even in my “nice” neighborhood.

Let me introduce myself. I’m a mom. I have three boys. Yes, three boys. My husband and I assumed we were “finished” after two boys, and I gave up the dream of a daughter … then we found out we were pregnant. Yep, God in his wisdom and unrighteous sense of humor, sent us another son. Even our family dog is a boy. No longer is my life about parenting, it is more about crowd control. Being the mother of three boys, my day consists of phrases like, “put your brother down … leave the dog alone … wait until I talk to your Dad about this one … have you lost your mind, and, no, torturing your brother is NOT okay.”

There are few small pleasures in my life. I endure taking all three, yes three, of my boys to the store. Rarely, if ever, have I gotten everything on my carefully prepared list as I try to get down aisle after aisle without my darling boys killing one another, ripping the carefully organized store shelves to shreds, or generally acting like the poster children for birth control. Often, I stare the other direction hoping people won’t realize they belong to me … but, the town is small, Hannaford is smaller, and the word is out. All three of them, the boys that act like ferrets on crack whenever exposed to the public, are mine.

Given my particular situation (the three boys and all) I have few pleasures. In an effort to stay in fighting form to referee any disputes throughout the average day, I wake up at 5:30 a.m. every day and do one thing I hate and one thing I enjoy. First, I run. I hate running. But, I do it. I do it because I know if I don’t the day will be long, my boys might get the upper hand, and my husband would make a lousy single parent. So, I run. I don’t think about things, my lungs are on fire, and I hate every moment, but all the same, every morning, I run because at the end of my run I know there is a reward. For every minute of running (30 all together), I get one minute for my secret passion … gardening.

You see, when you are a mother of three boys, gardening is a quiet haven. To me, gardening is the small distance between sanity and insanity that separates my day. Despite my relatively young age, I AM the crazy lady that talks to her plants and is visibly shaken when her spring bulbs are tainted by a late spring thaw. I spend hours cleaning flower beds, weeding, fertilizing, planting, and arranging various flowers, plants, and herbs to create that perfect asthetic curb appeal. I get literally giddy at the sight of a flowering bulb, or the first little bud indicating virility in my vegetable garden. I get 30 minutes a day, uninterrupted, to create my own little utopia … free of boys.

I (heart) my flowers ... there is REAL love there ... hello flowers!"
Sunday morning my utopia was defiled. Yes, defiled. My small pleasure in life … no longer. Early Sunday morning as I walked out the front door I knew something was “off”. Initially, I couldn’t put my finger on what was “off”, but I knew something was wrong. Suddenly, I realized what was off … or gone as the case may be. My planter. Yep, the carefully designed square planter with the smaller planter inside boasting the carefully placed English Ivy that I was training to follow the handmade hangar wrapped in gardening tape … was gone. On first glance, I wanted to think that perhaps this was a cruel hoax. After all, this was one of two matching planters sitting on my front porch, and taking one planter would obviously be a noticeable prank. The remaining planter looked sullen, alone, and missing it’s matching counterpart. The yin to it’s yang, the black to it’s white, the balancing decorating motif between left and right, gone. I naively assumed that this must be a hoax because only a DEDICATED and PURPOSEFUL thief would STEAL a 40+ lb planter with various plants. Home Depot and Lowes leave their plants out at night … I think they are safe … why shouldn’t my front porch be as sacred as the parking lot of the local nursery?!

My house, my plants ... my respite ... ho-hum.
I was unable to discover the whereabouts of my planter, despite sending the local street gang (a group of neighborhood boys whom I have befriended following the analogy of keeping your enemies close, and yes, my boys are part of this group) on their scooters, tricycles, and “magged out” bicycles to root out the plant thief and bring them to me. There have been clues … but the planter thief remains at large. I spent most of Sunday depressed and missing my poor little planter. I reminisced about the spring day I filled it with fresh potting soil and new annuals hoping that THIS year would be the year the English Ivy actually grew to maturity before the winter snow. But now, I will never know.

Monday morning I wanted to start fresh. I planned a trip to the local nursery, hoping I could find another matching planter and reinvent the carefully balanced dual décor ruined by the theft of my matching planter. To my horror … another planter, gone. This time it was a hanging basket. The cute little hanging basket that greets people when they drive into my driveway and walk down the walkway to the front porch … THAT hanging basket. The hanging basket that was once such a welcoming sight to visitors and friends has now become the lackluster victim of a plantnapping. Laugh if you will … I called the Franklin police after the second plantnapping. While the uniformed officer that was sent to my home to take a statement maintained a sense of decorum (let’s be honest here, I was calling about plants being kidnapped, how he maintained without laughing his head off of beyond me). I even offered to let him laugh as I was asked to give a detailed description of my kidnapped planters. “Yes, officer, it was a square planter with an English Ivy, very distinct, just like its twin on the front porch … yes, the basket was a black wired hanging basket with little leaves peaking through the sides…yes, I know, those planters ARE expensive!” The officer had me estimate the total cost of said stolen planters and I almost had to hold back tears thinking, “really, is there a replacement for my love?”

I asked the officer exactly WHAT the trespassing laws were in Franklin, New Hampshire and how many years I would have to do in the state pen if I took matters into my own hands? For instance, if the plantnapper presented themselves at an opportune moment, say 2 a.m., stealing another planter from my yard, and I happened to greet them with Jon’s rifle and some housewife indignant rage, how sympathetic WOULD the New Hampshire legal system be? Apparently, all I have to do is put a “No Trespassing” sign on my lawn … then I can shoot at will.

Alright, laugh if you will … but take note. SOMEONE in Franklin, New Hampshire has taken to plantnapping and WHEN not IF I find them, I will make them pay dearly. Yes, I have professional “make your life hell” training. As a mom of three boys, I daily walk a fine line with my sanity … and I have “anger”, as my 5 year-old will attest. If you have any information in regards to the Franklin, NH plantnapper, please contact me immediately … and watch your plants.

Still Disgruntled,
cortney