The littlest tree

Holman-Canadian Morning_the littlest tree
I came late to gardening. After nearly a half century convinced (by sad empirical evidence) of a “black thumb,” I found myself suddenly with muddy knees every weekend, tearing out weeds and vines as if in some primal rage for order. Abruptly, by some miracle, seeds, branches, and roots touched by my grubby, thorn-proof garden gloves seemed, actually, to grow (at least, most of the time). In his reflective blog and long essay colleague Alan Jacobs considers the wonder of that majestic agricultural and spiritual garden presence: the tree.


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