“Don’t you want to marry them all?” asked my friend years ago when we went out to shop at the Natural Gardener. She was referring to the employees, gentle and knowledgable and sporting braids and dirty hands. In the garden, collards grew massive. Caterpillars downed fronds of fennels exactly as they were supposed to. A donkey brayed — how often do I get to use the word bray? — and vines climbed fences. Rosemary was forever tumbling over a wall. When I come here I think anything is possible. Tomato starts will yield perfect fruit, native sage shoot red blooms toward the sky. And it’s true that the lacebark elm we planted in memory of George and Sylvia a decade ago is shades the front yard. Yes, I want to marry them all.
March 6, 2015