Several choice Japanese maples that I’ve always feared are too tender for my winters live with me in pots, hauled in and out of the garage on a hand truck each year (and root-pruned every few years to stay dwarf enough for their confinement). When they do this, I remember why I bother.
never stop wanting more plants, my garden mentor instilled in me 20-plus
years ago, regularly reminding me of another gardener, past 90, who still lusts
for every new thing he can get a cutting of. I promise not to, until I myself
am back in the soil.
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