tools

Looking back on what I have just written, I see I said sow a vast patch. I am sure this is good and sound advice. Always exaggerate rather than stint. Masses are more effective than mingies.

Fortunately, by the thirtieth or fortieth or fiftieth year or thereabouts, the gardener strikes that balance by which he has the best of all seasons. By the time one is eighty, it is said, there is no longer a tug of war in the garden with the May flowers hauling like mad against the claims of the other months. All is at last in balance and all is serene. The gardener is usually dead, of course.

Garden math has always seemed a bit like using MapQuest to find Nirvana.

There is nothing better to cure a wicked case of self obsession that a good dose of fresh air and dirty work.

A writer who gardens is sooner or later going to write a book about the subject--I take that as inevitable.