I cannot walk into our garden without constantly being reminded of the friends who have shared their plants.

Anne of Austria, wife of Louis XIII of France, had such an aversion to roses that she could not stand seeing one even in a painting.

Of course, the character of my garden is also determined by things beyond any human decision, mine or anyone else's.

Gardener's , like everyone else, live second by second and minute by minute. What we see at one particular moment is then and there before us. But there is a second way of seeing. Seeing with the eye of memory, not the eye of our anatomy, calls up days and seasons past and years gone by.

An angel, legend has it, took pity on a little shepherd girl who had nothing to give to the Infant Jesus in his manger. The angel handed her a weed, but first transformed it into this beautiful flower of winter.

Plants are the original chemists. Their sophistication makes DuPont and Monsanto look like little kids with chemistry sets.

In a well-made garden every day is new.