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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.

Allen Lacy

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Allen Lacy
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Crabgrass is aptly descriptive of this hated weed, for it does scuttle quickly through a lawn.
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Plants are the original chemists. Their sophistication makes DuPont and Monsanto look like little kids with chemistry sets.
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Insects leave (Madagascar periwinkle) Catharanthus roseus out of their diets. So, for that matter, do deer. The reason is that the plants are loaded with alkaloids so potent that they are the source of vincristine and vinblastine. These are drugs important in routines of chemotherapy for treating Hodgkin's disease and certain forms of leukemia.
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When I need to be precise about a plant, I use its Latin name, even if my nongardening friends sometimes look at me a little funny for using big words in a dead language - or in the kind of horticultural Esperanto that botanical names make up.
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Gardening transcends everything that otherwise divides us.
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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.
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One becomes a gardener by becoming a gardener.
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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.
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A powerful hand lens [Eschenback Leutchlupe] with a focused beam of light opens up an entire world below the threshold of the ordinary experience of seeing.
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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.
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In a well-made garden every day is new.
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In addition to all its rich offerings to the body and its five senses, gardening engages the mind.
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All gardeners need to know when to accept something wonderful and unexpected, taking no credit except for letting it be.
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I cannot walk into our garden without constantly being reminded of the friends who have shared their plants.
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We quickly discovered that two kittens were much more fun than one.
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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.
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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.
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I know of no common interest that exceeds gardening as a source of lifelong friendships, nor as a means of making new friends almost constantly.
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Not knowing where your food comes from is a primary form of alienation.
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Am I accurately reporting what I see in such a blossom? The answer is no ... and yes.
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