Sophia Bennett

The way the morning light warms your back through the greenhouse glass has a quality to it that is a hopeful physicality. I learned this while I was restoring a dilapidated Victorian glasshouse. The glass was cracked. Vines were strangling the rusted frames. The glasshouse is home to a few citrus trees I sprouted from store-bought seeds. You don't need a glasshouse. You need curiosity. And a willingness to get some dirt under your fingernails.

I once planted a "low maintenance" koi pond. The fish ate the water lilies. Algae turned the pond pea soup green. A heron came and cleaned out the surviving koi. The pond is now a bog garden. It is home to pitcher plants and dragonflies. Mistakes direct you. Keep a garden journal. Draw what thrives where. Note the weeds that volunteer near your compost pile. They are teachers in disguise.

Gardening is anarchy. My neighbor insists that they grow better if you talk to the eggplants. I scatter my used coffee grounds around the hydrangeas to create blue blooms. Try it out. See what happens. Last year a client called and said her "dead" cherry tree grew suckers. We grafted the suckers onto rootstock, and now she gives away saplings at the town fair. Grab a trowel. Save that lavender orchid off the clearance rack. Or trade this year's zucchini harvest with the neighbor for honey. The earth knows how to surprise you.