Driving Miss Rita

Meijer Gardens is a fabulous combination of horticulture, art, and education. Attractive and sophisticated, it also provides kid-specific areas and activities, as well as walking trails for the fitness inclined. In December, Christmas trees representing world cultures enchant visitors young and old, and in the spring the conservatory is filled with live butterflies. During the summer, an outdoor amphitheater hosts a variety of musicians who perform everything from jazz to country to 80s rock. In every season, each nook and cranny of the garden, from the farm to the waterfall, is beautifully decorated with seasonal botany. I love this place; I see something new each time I go. 

The garden’s 1,000-plus volunteers do dozens of jobs: they lead tours, sell tickets, drive the tram, plant annuals…it’s a big place and there are plenty of ways to help out. On Wednesdays I volunteer as a bus buddy. When busses of kids pull up, we instruct the teachers where to pay, tell the bus drivers where to park, and remind the kids how to behave. Then we bring them where they need to go and release them into the garden. 

My partner in this endeavor is Rita who, with her husband, volunteers at the garden virtually every day. Like most of the daytime volunteers, Rita is a retiree. She might be all of 5 feet tall in heels—although I doubt she’s owned a pair of heels in her life. Sensible shoes: that would be Rita’s style. Although her gravelly voice and general appearance give every indication that she wouldn’t care for kids, in fact she loves them. She taught elementary school and then ran a home daycare for many years while raising her own six kids. She gets her “kid fix” as a bus buddy, and while it is her favorite job at the garden, one day a week on her feet is plenty, so other days she works other jobs.

On weeks with few groups coming in, Rita takes the shift alone. But this particular week, although there were only two groups, the first group was huge—160 kids and 40 adults—and Rita figured it would take two of us to manage it. Because they were arriving at 9, she was a little panicked: she didn’t think she could get to the garden in time. Her husband had a morning meeting, and Rita does not drive. Her husband transports her to the garden, which is one reason why they often work together.

So that Wednesday morning, I went to pick up Rita. She lives in a post-WWII neighborhood just off a main artery. The neighborhood is pleasant enough, if a little tired. As I pulled up to her modest cape cod-style house, I couldn’t imagine raising six kids there. I could probably fit two of Rita’s houses inside my house. (And let me confess: I love my house, and I know it is much more than most people have. But it is far from ostentatious.)

Rita had warned me not to pull into the drive because it needs some repair, so I waited in the street while she made her way out to the car. She moves slowly; some of that is age, but as compact as she is, her stride has never been long. She settles in next to me and we make the short trip to the garden, chatting as we always to about our husbands and our kids and the day’s schedule.

We’re ready when the three buses pull up, and the teachers and kids are off the buses and in the garden in short order. Rita can handle the next group alone and she sends me on my way, but not without thanking me—for the twelfth time—for picking her up.

And for the twelfth time I assure her that I’m happy to do it—anytime. Doing things, even small things, for others is its own reward. And helping out a friend like Rita, who gives so much of herself to others, well, that’s just the icing on the cake.