I THINK SOMETIMES we spoil the perfection of our moments by looking for reasons for things to be wrong. We gardeners, especially, tend to be critical of our most flamboyant plants.
For instance, at the bottom of our vegetable garden’s fence is the great bulbous mass of a ‘Don Juan’ rose. In August it is nothing but a thirsty-looking shrub covered with the long-blown roses we call brown buns. But I know that in spring, after winter rains have slaked its thirst, it will be the most glorious eruption of bright crimson double roses imaginable. Maybe