Companionable Existence

Early this morning, before the sun rose too high, I dug out the old cat mint and slipped armeria and black chervil into the ground, within the peninsula tip of my garden. Out by the street, I buried the perfect bulb of an elephant ear. By the front of the house a new vine still awaits digging in—red trumpet flowers, a hummingbird's seduction. I want hummingbirds to join my 24 carat finches. I'm glad the robin is back, in her old nest.

The new plants were all collected Sunday, from Handmade Gardens, Michael and Kathye Petrie's splendid Downington, PA, showcase. They were piled into my father's car, alongside all that he had bought to bring back to his own garden-rich home, and on my lap, as we drove away, was a black amarylis, a gift from Michael. This earthenness is something my father and I share—a love of growing things, a companionable existence with birds.