Winter arrives. The bulbs are planted. Maybe I’ve even cleaned the beds and raked just enough leaves that it looks like someone lives here. I do not relish this season. Yes, the physical rest is welcome, along with the crisp nights, the hot drinks. I love fall in New England, but putting the garden to bed is never a favorite task. I’m excited only by life and growth.
So when the fire is roaring I putter in my slippers, watering my I-won’t-tell-youhow-many houseplants. They’re here because I need dirt under my nails. But I also need plants that tolerate some neglect, because when planting season starts, I make a mad dash
