Who Does The Flowers For The Flowers’ Guy?

Quote

Our little lives get complicated
It’s a simple thing
Simple as a flower
And that’s a complicated thing
– David J.

John Davis being fed by the same energy that flowers receive for their colors #buyflowers

Paul John Davis III  November 10, 1966 – November 15, 2021

— A question left unanswered. A void that cannot be filled. It reminds me of those minutes when great sculptors have died — who will do the master’s headstone? Or, in this case, who is worthy to do the flowers of the BuyFlowers’ guy? I wonder if John ever thought about it? Great artists often contemplate such things. That wasn’t very “John,” but if he did, he probably made everyone laugh when answering. I suppose the loving staff of John Davis Florist will do their finest flowers to date. Something very much symbolic and worthy of his incredible life.

Everyone knew that God — in a cosmic artist whim — gave John Davis an extra dose of joy in his spirit or sadness elixir personality. You could just look at John and know that. You can see it in every picture everyone has shared online, depicting his entire life span, since we all learned that he died just 5 days after his 55th birthday. To be honest, I’d not seen any photos of John as a child or younger man until this week, but in each picture, I saw those angelic happiness eyes always ablaze and smile to match. As a stranger, if you caught that kid staring at you like that you might really wonder what he was thinking or what drug he was on making him look at you that way. It could be unnerving if you aren’t accustomed to having a modern-day cherub gawking your direction. Odds are, John was just admiring in you a light you weren’t seeing or needed to be introduced to within yourself, and he was more than prepared to show you through words or flowers. It lived in him at a savant-like level. In the same way there are math savants and artistic savants, John was a “joy savant” with a bit of comic genius thrown in for good measure. You know how there are daredevils or rock climbers they say aren’t born with the fear gene, or whatever that is? John wasn’t born with that, either, but he had an extra happiness gene. And we wondered at him like we marvel at those rock climbers that seem to move so effortlessly.

I’m quite sure John knew what sadness and lament was considering his role as florist, but one probably would never dare accuse him of it. John didn’t have time to be sad or down. That wasn’t in his spirit let alone his vocabulary. He was too busy making sure he gave everyone part of the spark that God gave him, which he found in himself. He could better cure his problems by helping you feel better about your own. John wanted you to have some of the world he saw and experienced because it was so close to something divine, he felt bad if anyone might miss out. In fact, his own spirit insisted upon it and those who experienced him knew that as a fact. John took great joy in people around him. They were his aphrodisiac. He saw all of us as wildflowers, and in order to understand us, he needed to get closer. Or perhaps our flower was lost, and so he stepped in to put our mood in a better arrangement. Being a florist was merely the guise for it all.

I would offer, other than entreprenurial parallels, part of John’s and my personal connection, or perhaps, one he felt towards me originally, was his recognition for my doing creative things around cemeteries. Although, his customers certainly more modern, mine, being more historical. For a long time, I didn’t know, and may not have the timeline details completely correct, John began doing flowers in the back of his mother’s house after his father died in 1983. I’m unsure if he did the flowers for the funeral itself, but recall John saying his mother would ask him to take flowers out to the grave all of the time and he would do various arrangments, making them different each opportunity. He witnessed the happiness it brought to his mother and himself and John Davis Florist was born more or less — pretty special stuff.

John & dad, John Paul Davis, Jr #buyflowers

Painted by notable artist Leonard Miller #buyflowers

I cannot claim John in the way others can claim him for a lifetime, even if he was my friend, too, and I have known him for the better part of 32 years as this unique spirit in Savannah. I’m not sure where I first encountered him, except to say John Davis was most likely to show up in your life out of nowhere. I would routinely pass his shop, John Davis Florist, on Abercorn Street near The Cottage Shop,  and both seemed like such long-time institutions. So many of those have faded, you see. Granted, he was the new kid on the business block, but eventually, he earned that “Savannah” classification. I suppose a part of what drew me to John’s place was that our mutual painter friend, Leonard Miller , had worked on some of his early signage, and that was about as local of a statement as one could make. It gave the shop some added street cred, in my mind. I’d collected Leonard Miller’s art and signs, and it would be John, who years later, gave me the sad news Leonard had died a couple years earlier, which I somehow missed the news. He slightly mused about it, but only because someone like me — in my own sort of cemetery business– hadn’t gotten the memo, and John was simply laughing at the irony. But our Leonard had been a fellow joy savant, no question, and it seemed appropriate John would be the messenger. He felt bad, and no surprise, sent me flowers with a personal note that we’d both “lost a good one.” And we had. John was keenly aware of life’s many levels and playing fields, you see. To a stranger, from afar, he might be mistaken of simply being a goofball, aloof or maybe not a serious person. In fact, he’d find all of this about him, from me, a little too serious for his own liking. John wasn’t much to get lost in serious subjects, as I don’t think he was out to be a philosopher. But he was a quietly serious man and could grasp and handle any subject, or if it were too serious for him, he’d let you know that he wasn’t into it but was happy that you were and he meant it. That was kind of our dynamic at times. I think because I deal in history and death most of the time, I’m more serious than I’d like to be. But John was a reminder of my own helium voice and frustrated inner stand-up comic.

John hamming it up with dentist, Scott Cohen #buyflowers

Part of the world’s love for John Davis was his generosity at a whim. I recall when I was having a Grand Opening celebration of a store I was about to embark upon, I went in to order some flowers and balloons, and before I could even finish, John said he wanted to donate some of everything because he was just happy for me. How could I argue? And it may be a small thing, but when he’d see me, John would state my full name like “S-H-A-N-N-O-N SCOTT!” He’d say it with his cornball impish grin, but it was his way of acknowledging that you were a VIP in his life book. Always loved that. John Davis loved to make you feel cool. And for a moment you’d let yourself think, “Hey, maybe I am cool!” That was John’s spiritual flower power on tap.

John as floral messenger in a picture by John Alexander Photography #buyflowers

I may lose a few here, but I spend most of my days in cemeteries. When I’m not touring in them professionally, I’m walking in them for exercise and just exploring others. This is how I also stayed in touch with John Davis’ career. Call it morbid, but anytime I saw a new grave in my regular places, I’d go to investigate, and over the years, it has gotten to a point where I know a John Davis arrangement before I’m even at the grave, spying the maker’s name on the card! I always delighted in discovering I was right! I don’t know if I ever got to share that with John in a full way, but I’d garner to say that I became a strange brand of fan just from that perspective alone. Strange to note, but I’ll miss John for those, too. In fact, I walked up to a grave yesterday, just to peek, and of the many surrounding, none were his – end of an era. The last one I knew that bore his creative stamp was just a couple of weeks ago in Hillcrest Abbey East. The first sign of John’s touch were bright red, cherry-colored, shotgun shells looking like cattails mixed in with  pheasant feathers, poking up with sunflowers and rather unexpected, camouflage ribbons! Like to hunt much? It had John’s sensitivity and whimsy all at once. Like John winking up at you from the grave. Might be best anology of his style, come to think of it. “Winking up at you from the grave.” Kind of like that. Hope you don’t mind, John.

John Davis’ graveside bling #buyflowers

I don’t think I’m talking too out of school when I say it came as a gladdened surprise to hear John had found real love with his soul mate, Jen Abshire. He’d found the other rare flower, finally. John always seemed to exist in this light of being that was pure love. And such people seem to either never find it, feel they don’t need it, or abstain because it’s like a foreign subject, the idea of ever knowing a true opposite or equal. John deserved to have some of the earthly kind, and he found it in one of the coolest women to ever walk around in Savannah. I’d known Jen as a customer in a deli that I managed, and I knew she was a bright light like from the start. She became John’s “Jackie O” really. A total dream girl, through and through. John’s inner sunrays only grew brighter, frankly, and he never seemed as happy. He knew he was the luckiest man alive like never before and he was. I remember his excitement for the wedding, itself, and the planning like it was the greatest event he’d ever get to do. Knowing I was the history guy, he asked for my thoughts on the old Dorchester Presbyterian Church in Midway, GA as the setting, and told him I was impressed he knew about the hidden Low Country church and reminded me of why I felt kindred to him. All the same, the giddy schoolboy in love had totally come out, and I reveled watching it transpire and like always, felt John had made the whole world happier at the same time.

Upon learning of John’s passing, a friend and I hit upon the view that Savannah should be a mystical refuge from death, itself. That all the cool people like John should never have to die. They never really do, of course, because of the way we love them. But still, we needed John to stay longer — like forever. Because of John’s essence, I found myself remarking to a friend, Savannah was like this special ship with a particular crew that made it all work, and now without John it’s like the ship is lopsided. It’s just how it feels to me, and I apologize to John for sounding a bit sadder than he’d allow. The magnitude of John’s loss to his wife Jen, stepchildren, family, friends, not least of all, Savannah culture, is hard to calibrate, except to say no funeral wreath can contain the mourning flowers, and yet we feel John’s sunshine brimming just behind the sadness almost tickling our spirits. Something tells me we’ll all get flowers from him when we least expect it. #buyflowers y’all 912-233-6077

Where John & Jen tied the knot and where he’ll be buried near in Dorchester Cemetery. #buyflowers

Drinking My Words Is Good For You…

Yes, you literally can now….or kind of. I’m really happy to present to you 5 loose teas called AntiquiTeas that celebrate 5 amazing women who spent major parts of their lives in and around Savannah, Georgia. This is the first installation and more will arrive with different themes.
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Juliette Low – Founder of The Girl Scouts and true eccentric.
Flannery O’Connor — Author of “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” and “Wise Blood.”
Caty Littlefield Greene — Wife of Gen. Greene & co-inventor and partner in the cotton gin.
Mary Musgrove — An Indian Princess who broke all of the rules & made some of her own.
Jane DeVeaux — Visionary educator who beat the odds with her illegal slave schools.
Mary Haskell — Teacher, lover, editor & financial benefactress to poet-painter, Kahlil Gibran.

I’m a tea drinker so this was an amazing opportunity that came to me courtesy of my friend, Sharon Cobb, proprietor of Griffin Coffee & Tea Company. She desired to do this series of teas but wanted my take on who the women should be and how to orient a whisper of their life stories on the labels of the actual teas. She sent me the teas late last year in 2014 and I spent about a month drinking them and attempted to align certain teas with the women who I felt they spoke to in an esthetic way. So yes, it was more than just randomly slapping a label on a tea for the sake of and the end result left us with a greater feeling of substance and pride. I felt if I could really do the women justice in words, and paired those to the right flavor, it would become a greater sensory experience for the buyer. But beyond that, would intrigue customers to learn new things about women they’d heard of, and then entirely new things about women they’d not! I kind of took a selfish pleasure in imagining them drinking these teas while either doing that research online or hopefully, reading books about them. Or yes, even talking to each other on the phone or in groups about these great women of history. So for me, these teas have been an act of true women empowerment and made without downing men or “the sexes” or citing obvious historical adversities and certainly not latching onto the ambiguity of “feminism.” I sought to inspire people in the purest and truest meaning of the word “inspire.” Let the benevolent actions of the people speak to the seekers, not the politics. And what better way to do that then through their palates? Exactly.

THE WOMEN..

I will say that as I came up as a researcher and then storyteller in Savannah, the histories of certain women really blew my mind and spoke to me at great levels and made this tea project even more perfect. I had known about Caty Greene as this charmer during The Revolutionary War but upon discovering that she really completed the Cotton Gin and was equal partners in in with Eli Whitney, I realized history books had jilted her as much if not more than those who literally robbed her and Whitney of the machine itself.
James Frothingham (American artist, 1786–1864) Catharine Littlefield Greene Miller b
I suppose I grew up with a fairly generic and sterile concept of Juliette Gordon-Low, but years ago upon aquiring a mint condition, 1958 copy of “Lady From Savannah,” written by her nephew and niece as an almost protest act to expand the minds of the world and The Girl Scout organization itself, I was forever hooked and am only sorry I never got to court “Daisy.” She was the wild strain of the family, spoke many languages (including Native American), was a belle, but survivalist and artist. She sculpted, painted, and did wrought iron ironwork! Other than empowering girls for the future by teaching them home industriousness, also taught them how to hunt and hand to hand combat. An early Girl Scout handbook chapter was titled, “How To Disarm & Maintain A Burglar With An 8 Inch Piece of Cord.” Nuff’said.
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As a man, obviously when you hear women in particular, say, “A good man is hard to find,” you kind of cringe or laugh, but when I learned a young girl once famed for traveling the country with a chicken that walked backwards, coined the expression and was born in Savannah, I was more than intrigued by Flannery O’Connor. I had also seen John Huston’s incredible film take on her “Wise Blood” novel in high school. She also wore sexy nerdy glasses and walked with a limp like Lord Byron so she was unconsciously hip and to me, sexy as heck. And how many writers can be called “Southern Gothic Christian Realist” in the same sentence? She was witty, wry, and once said, “Friends don’t let friends read Ayn Rand.” What’s not to love!
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We all grow up hearing about Pocohantas, but narely and rarely, does one encounter the stories of the Indian Princess/Queen, Mary Musgrove or as she was known to her people, Coosaponakeesa of The Wind Clan. She was the highest paid non-English person outside of the crown, earning in today’s money, millions of dollars a year as official interpreter of Georgia’s founder, Oglethorpe. And by the end of her life (c.1767), was the largest land owner in the colony. She often wore the colors of war & peace in the same outfit and rabble roused with the best of them and I think of them all, Mary makes me wish for a time machine so I could lay eyes on her. She was a spirit and sight to behold is my gather!
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Savannah has a culture not unlike vodun/vodou(voodoo), called “root.” Instead of witch doctors there are root doctors. And the most famous name tied to all of that in these parts of The South is DeVeaux. Just saying the name aloud in certain corners will get you the most interesting looks. Jane DeVeaux may not have been a root lady but something tells me she cast a spell over the eyes of her detractors in order to run an illegal slave schoolhouse in the middle of the city when such things were punishable by death and banishment. But she did it and continued to raise the minds of others up well beyond slavery. Sadly no picture of her to date, but here’s a photo of her home and the school. To me she symbolizes that even while there were slaves, there were movers and shakers during the thick of slavery who found a way to break the bonds and live free. A lesson for us all. As Dick Gregory said not long ago, “We’re all on the plantation now.”
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I can say without any hesitation that the most serendipitous tea lady so to speak, is Mary Haskell. Close to the day I left Illinois for my first year of SCAD or The Savannah College of Art and Design, my English teacher walked up the drive and handed me Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet,” one of the 20th Century’s most recognized books anywhere in the world. The story all about a young man leaving for the world and being questioned by his town people on his understandings of certain life truths. So to arrive to the city where not only his lover and benefactress was buried, but to discover that most of his paintings and drawings were in the nearby Telfair Museum, I was beyond convinced that nothing in the universe as it happens is accidental. Mary Haskell not only offered him her love, but her translation & interpretation skills (he was Lebanese), but also paid for him to go to the Paris Academy. She was often his muse more importantly in his written and other art works. Thankfully she did not burn their 800 love letters and published them as “My Beloved Prophet.” I visit her grave in Laurel Grove Cemetery here often and I think we’re in love but you know…
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One of the neat things we’re offering is a personalized AntiquiTeas Tea Talk for your special event or women’s group. I show up with visuals and while you’re experiencing the teas to taste, I’m pouring stories over your imagination about all of these women. We can price it for small and large events. Its a perfect thing to attach to formal or casual events. Just let us know and we’ll create something teamazing!
ORDER YOUR ANTIQUITEAS TEA SETS OR INDIVIDUAL FLAVORS HERE!
Buy AntiquiTeas Here
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