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My fingernails are stained a deep, stubborn brown from potting soil, and my lower back is aching from a long afternoon of bending over greenhouse benches. There is an annoying…
My hands still smell of fish emulsion, and there is a crust of black compost wedged firmly under my left thumbnail. After thirty years of digging in the dirt—from the…
My knees always ache when November rolls around. The damp, cold air seeps right into my greenhouse, bringing with it the sharp, earthy smell of wet clay and decaying leaf…
My back still aches when I think about the autumn of 2005, when I tried to acclimate a batch of delicate Andean succulents to a dry, drafty greenhouse. Half of…
My lower back still twinges when I think about the spring of 2005. I was trying to acclimate a group of three-meter-tall giant white birds of paradise in a drafty,…
I still remember the heavy, sulfurous stench of rot that drifted up from my greenhouse staging back in the winter of 1998. My first rare orchid collection was melting into…
My lower back is aching today, a dull throb from hauling heavy terracotta pots across my gravel path. My fingernails are stained black with damp compost that smells of rain…
I still remember the summer of 2005 when I tried to build a bog garden in a parched, windy valley. My back ached for a week after hauling heavy limestone…
My fingernails are permanently stained a dark, earthy brown, and my lower back is currently screaming after three hours hunched over a miniature planting tray. That is the raw, unglamorous…
My hands are still stained a stubborn green-brown from tearing away dead Strelitzia stems this morning. My lower back aches from hauling heavy terracotta pots around the greenhouse, and that…
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