(photo: Peter Koch)

On a recent blow-high-hell morning, with thick clouds gathering to the North and West, he agreed to meet up with me and chat. At the appointed time and street corner, I sat down on a stoop and waited for Loren Shibley to show up. If anything, I figured he’d be impossible to miss, piloting, as he does, a garden center on wheels.

In fact, you’ve probably seen him before, pedaling around Allentown or the Elmwood Village, his 300-lb. tricycle and wagon outfit stacked high with gardening implements and a tall orange flag poking into the sky to mark his progress. That flag is the first sign I see of Shibley on this particular morning, moving slowly and deliberately towards me above the parked cars like a shark fin. I step out to say hello, and he quickly apologizes, “Sorry I’m late, but I was having bike troubles.” His main cycle is having wheel-bearing problems, so he spent an extra ten minutes transferring his load to his first ever work tricycle, a bright, old turquoise one that his parents bought him for his 31st birthday.

I can understand his lateness, mechanical failure or not. It is, after all, still seven in the morning. But such is the volume of business for Shibley that he’s got to be an early riser. In a typical week, he single-handedly cares for 35 to 40 yards, from cutting the grass to more particular tasks like weeding the gardens and laying down mulch.

At 35 years old (“35 1⁄2, actually,” he says after a brief pause, “I’ll be 36 in two weeks”), Shibley seems like a fixture in the area, though he’s only called Buffalo home since April 2001. He grew up on the Pacific coast in Toledo, Oregon, where early gardening experience with his mother would plant a seed in Loren that only fully took root here in Buffalo. “Gardening and yard work are my passions,” he says. He likes the look of a well-cared-for lawn, and thinks of it as a community service. “I always like helping out others who need help. It’s a good feeling when I get a yard done.”

Oh yeah, Loren has ataxic cerebral palsy. It’s a debilitating condition that he was born with, which severely limits his balance, speech and reaction time. I mention it in the off-handed way that Loren himself treats it. That’s part of his charm. Were it not for a slight stutter in his speech and his brief, simple responses I might never guess that Loren has a palsy. He doesn’t wear his disability on his chest, doesn’t even think to mention it while we’re talking. Instead he focuses on his true love—horticulture—and, it goes without saying, keeps working.

He carefully unloads his cart—a simple utility cart that many folks might use for hauling grass cuttings, sticks and other debris—before starting, and lays out the implements of his work on the side of the road: a broom, a shovel, a hoe, an electric weed whacker and lawn mower, a leaf blower, two rakes, a dustpan and plenty of orange and black extension cord.

Shibley first came to Buffalo because he was unemployed. He’d been working a job he found through Oregon’s Office of Vocational Rehabilitation, a job he was awarded for his consistency and work ethic. Then, in early 2001, Loren’s job description abruptly changed and the company told him he was no longer qualified to do his job. After two jobless months, arrangements were made and he moved to Buffalo to live with his father.

“That first summer was kind of slow,” Shibley says, recalling his first season when he only had five yards to care for. But word of his steady, dependable work and low prices (he charges hourly) spread quickly, and by the end of that summer, his business had doubled. By now, Shibley’s become somewhat of a celebrity around here, and he gets more than a few friendly honks and waves while we stand talking on the street. Even Channel 4’s Victoria Hong interviewed him last fall, he tells me, beaming. He juggles about three-dozen customers throughout the warmer months, and has even taken on a snow-clearing business during winter.

Loren is of medium height and build, and has weathered remarkably well for someone who spends so much time at the mercy of the elements. When he takes off his thick safety glasses, he easily looks seven or eight years younger, with a trimmed mustache and a peppering of odd facial hairs on this chin and cheeks. He wears dirty jeans and heavily grass-stained steel toe boots. When he’s fully outfitted, the pockets of his beige utility vest bulge and his DeWalt tool belt sags from the weight of mysterious gadgets and devices. The red tee shirt that pokes from beneath the vest matches Loren’s sun-reddened neck and arms.

Walking rows up and down the yard, he’s a parody of someone vacuuming his living room, one hand on the mower, the other holding onto the long, snaking extension cord to keep it out of reach of the sharp mower blades. This lends Loren a comical air, especially because he looks more aptly outfitted to gut your kitchen or resurface your driveway than to be lithely running a vacuum over a lush, green carpet. His Popeye forearms only add to the caricature.

Despite his obvious vitality, Loren is convinced his body is giving out on him. Pausing between mowing and weeding, he confides in me. “‘Lo and behold, my body’s wearing down on me.” He’s developed phlebitis—a blood clot—in his ankle, which reduces his blood circulation. That means he’s had to slow down a bit recently. “I can only stay on my feet for five hours at a time now,” he sighs.

So he gets down on his knees. But it’s not for the phlebitis. He’s examining blades of grass, pointing out to me which ones were cut this week (with freshly sharpened mower blades) and the ones that are slightly torn from last week (blades, he straightforwardly admits, that weren’t sharp enough). He crawls over to a scorched brown patch and departs on me all his collected wisdom regarding dog urine spots. It is clear now more than ever that this is a man who really loves his job. His speech becomes more fluid when discussing the simple horticulture employed in yard work. He’s a master.

When I ask how he likes Buffalo, Loren’s reply isn’t exactly bubbling: “It’s okay. I was kind of sad to leave Oregon. That’s my roots, ya know?” he says, without a hint of irony. Whatever his feelings for Buffalo are, his love for his work and a steady stream of customers promises to keep him here.

The boom of an approaching thunderstorm brings our conversation to a rapid end. “Needless to say,” he says, his eyes focused on the sky, “I’ve got to hurry up before the rain gets the best of me.”