The Language Of Flowers

Hitting midlife can be daunting, but it can also be inspiring; a time for change and growth. And what better way to embrace it than by learning a new skill?

- Caryn Mcarthy

I'm early. I have been up since 4 am, having caught the red-eye flight from Cape Town to Joburg, boarded the Gautrain to Rosebank and then hopped into an Uber to the front gate of 15 11th Avenue, Randburg – which will be my place of new beginnings for the next eight days.

The room I am in – once a garage that has been converted into a studio/flower haven – is an icy 16°C; flowers need to be kept cold. Since I’m smack-bang in the middle of a menopausal meltdown, the idea of working inside a fridge makes perfect sense!

I’ve wanted to be a florist for the longest time, so when this flower-arranging course came along, I jumped at the opportunity. Funnily enough, something really does switch when your hormones start running on empty – you start to consider what’s left of your life, and taking risks isn’t as daunting as it was when you were firing on all cylinders.

I’ve been saving up a bit and both my kids have moved on with their lives – now’s the time to stop talking about opening my own flower shop and start doing something about it. So here I am, taking my first baby step in the right direction.

Surrounded by buckets full of flowers and greenery, an old Great Dane at my feet, I wait for my ‘flower teacher’, Karen Dalton, to arrive. We’ve only spoken on the phone a couple of times, but we are both Zimbabweans (born in Harare), we share a name, and we have the same passion for flowers. Kindred spirits; I’m sure of it.