It was a particularly trying shot: a small bear, a bunch of daffodils beginning to wilt, rubber bands and lots of tape for positioning, the tripod as high as it would go. After several futile attempts, the doorbell rang. I was up on a bench. The bear was releasing the tape, and listing to one side.

When I call out ‘Who’s there’, and no one says anything, I get the feeling there’s someone annoying out there. When I say it for the third time, and get a tentative but friendly ‘Hi there!’, I know for sure it’s someone affiliated with a certain religious group. I stand at a distance, thinking I might have to go get some more bunches of daffodils when a face peers through the slats of the gate.

Religious person: Hello, I’d like to tell you about . . .
Me: Do you see the No Soliciting sign right in front of you?
Rp: But . . . but I’m not a solicitor!
Me: Yes, you are. Soliciting.

The bear is neither amused nor sorry to be leaning over so much. The rubber bands are too tight. I resort to tying the flowers around its neck with string. Bingo.

Last night, the woman behind me had two geraniums, a pot of New Guinea impatiens and a rubber tree plant. My cart had a vat of olive oil, some artisan sausages, chicken legs, steelhead salmon fillets, cashew nuts, and a bag of oranges. Plus a very large hydrangea bush for ten bucks.

It is spring, after all.