IT’S ALWAYS a treat to hear “The Washington Post” garden columnist Adrian Higgins’s voice on the other end of the phone. He rung up because he’d received an early copy of the new redo of my 21-year-old book “A Way to Garden.” Adrian, like I have, has been writing about gardening for a long time (he joined The Post in 1994), and so like two old colleagues, we talked about the now and then of our gardening lives, and our gardens. Some of our chat was captured in his April 10 story about me:
“When I asked her about her formative years,” he writes, “I could see a mirror image of my own self in her pained experiences.”
Yes, like those plants I wish I’d never planted—that I will never be rid of, such as the damn Houttuynia, and so many other decisions made out of ignorance. Or how rough I was on myself when the beds I’d make just didn’t look like those glorious photos of vast, non-stop-blooming herbaceous borders in the English garden books that were the gold standard when he and I began gardening in earnest.
We both keep learning, and learning to let go.
Of course as longtime garden journalists we both know a lot of plants, and experts, and how-to advice—the when to prune what, or how deep to plant it. But it’s the other stuff I (we?) love the best, the part I half-teasingly refer to as the “woo-woo” in my motto “horticultural how-to and ‘woo-woo,” and Adrian so “gets it” and put it this way in the column he wrote after our chat:
‘Her examination of the temporal space between the old and new Roach illustrates that gardening is a journey and not a destination,’ he writes. ‘It is something you do and something you live, not something you have.’
So well-said. Here’s the link to his story; enjoy. If you don’t already, be sure to read Adrian’s regular Post columns.