Lisa Roberts, in her essay, A Garden of Glass, calls greenhouses  ‘conservatories”.  A rather odd word to use, because we’ve always associated conservatories with places where we learn music or forced to learn music by fussy parents. 

Thinking about it, however, greenhouses are music to everyone’s ears.  They have come to signify the human race’s fondness for protecting plants – be they exotic species from distant lands or simply common, home-grown vegetables. 

Greenhouses also signify man’s wonder at seeing life take shape from beginning to end.  There’s something about a seed that mystifies and stimulates human imagination.  Greenhouses are also about self-sufficiency and good nutrition.

Many centuries ago, greenhouses were the monopoly of Europe’s aristocratic classes.  At that time, only the moneyed were able to import rare and exotic plants from foreign countries and had the resources to erect expensive structures in which to store their precious possessions.

Happily that monopoly turned into a commodity that even ordinary, unschooled people could have.  As styles and designs evolved quickly, greenhouses were now within reach of schools, universities and hobbyists searching for an endeavor that could bring joy and pleasure to their hearts.

Greenhouses not only became plant protectors, cultivators and all-season enclaves for growing plant forms, but also a refuge for weary souls, and clean entertainment for amateur and expert horticulturists bored by the outside world.  The greenhouse was a welcome escape from the urban decay that characterized cities in transition.  And once they’ve tasted fresh, juicy tomatoes or rich red sweet strawberries “harvested” in the greenhouse, consumers would rather shun the bland supermarket varieties that pale in comparison with greenhouse babies.