My husband calls them New Hampshire potatoes, the hundreds of rocks we pick from our garden every spring, heaved to the surface by winter’s churn of frost and thaw. We’ve been planting here for twenty-five years. My in-laws turned over…
My husband says I have a binary sense of time: “now” and “not now.” I prefer to think of myself as “exceptionally present.” This trait isn’t necessarily a good thing for a gardener. After all, a lot of gardening is…
Orchard ladders are beautiful. They’re mirror images of the trees they climb—wide at the bottom for solidity, and narrow at the top to fit between branches. Their form-follows-function design means the rails that hold the rungs have a pleasing, slow…
