One becomes a gardener by becoming a gardener.

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

All gardeners need to know when to accept something wonderful and unexpected, taking no credit except for letting it be.

We can plant to suit the needs of the birds and other wildlife that find a haven and a habitat on our home ground, and we can understand that to do so is a moral dictate, not a personal whim.

But there is one place where a person can make choices that will lead in a small way toward greater sanity in dealing with the natural order. That place is the private garden.

We quickly discovered that two kittens were much more fun than one.

I suppose that for most people one of the darker joys of gardening is that once you’ve got started it’s not at all hard to find someone who knows a little bit less than you.

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

Whether the are splashed with gold or white, striped with chartreuse or cream, or margined in light tones, they are nature’s weaklings, and nature is still a matter of survival of the fittest. The survival of variegated plants depends on human intervention.

Democracy is fine in politics. It should stay there, and we need more of it. But its political virture is no reason to practice it in the garden.