Garden Hospitality 



Another friend I have who is a source of much 

 reproach. To be sure she has more space at her 

 command, but hers is only generosity expanded. 

 Almost any day she will stop her household tasks 

 to take you "farming"; a delightful word in her 

 own whimsical interpretation. Little enough has 

 it to do with grubbing and hoeing. There are 

 vegetables on her farm I know, but I have never 

 seen them ; she keeps them out of sight. But once 

 among her flowers she will present you with a 

 basket for each arm and a formidable pair of 

 scissors and lead you to a low swamp where her 

 Japanese iris unfolds its crumpled flowers. Or if 

 it is August, to a sunny patch where in neat long 

 rows she grows her new and rare gladioli, the 

 primulinus hybrids. Then she will disappear quite 

 carelessly about her tasks. And when she returns 

 a good half hour later to find that you have but 

 helped yourself in the manner expected of your 

 guests, she lays about her, until you go home 

 staggering under your gay burden. 



After so much frankness I can only plead that 

 much different is my own feeling when I part 

 with plants. A rainy day in August is a sign that 



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