When I moved into my house more than four years ago, I thought a lot about the yard. I thought a lot about how I didn’t want to cut grass. I thought about how I wanted a garden all of my own. But I was nervous, for many reasons. First, I carry a lot of self doubt along with my trowel and garden shovel. I have always deferred to others to help me navigate the yard. My mother had a way with plants. Sitting in our glassed-in porch of our Milwaukee home, you shared a seat with an encroaching Spider Plant while a Wandering Jew tapped at your shoulder and stray fronds of the Boston Fern landed on your head. She was one of the rare people I knew that made African Violets bloom more than just for the few weeks after they came from the store. She repotted, divided roots, and created starter plants from clippings with the ease Biblical figures made wine from water. Continue reading “The Lesson of the Lilac” »