Autumn 2018

At The Gate

Inside Secret: This issue has six full—(or almost full—)page illustrations (not counting BUDS art). Last issue had only two. Why the difference? Unlike with most magazines, GP layouts always fill whole pages. So the word count of a story determines how much space is left for art.   READ MORE


Typing on a laptop in a garden

Mary McComsey: Mary is a college writing tutor and amateur gardener who’s lovingly creating a 1/8-acre nature habitat in Warminster, PA.

Ann Morrow: SD’s Ann spends entire paychecks at the greenhouse. Her three dogs, two cats, and ornery deer entertain and frustrate her.  READ MORE


Pondering with Walden

The comforting brush of warm air that stroked my nose during a February thaw here in eastern Pennsylvania woke up my Spring fever. I grabbed seed catalogs and lovingly fingered the pages, as if I could feel the cool smoothness of green leaves through the paper.  READ MORE

My Botanical Breakdown

Studies have shown that gardening is therapeutic. It boosts our bodies’ own mood-enhancing chemicals, serotonin and dopamine. I know I need all the therapy I can get, and when I’m up to my elbows in black dirt and peat moss, I’m as happy as a pig in mud.  READ MORE

“Pretty Please?”

I teach ESL, English as a Second Language, to immi-grant adults at a community college in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. The students’ ages range from 17 to 65, although most are under 25.  READ MORE

The Stump

I was in my 20s when I bought my first house, a dilapidated Victorian in the little town of Winters, California. I was delighted to get out of my 8 x 21 trailer, even though my new house had knob and tube wiring and didn’t really have a bathroom or foundation.  READ MORE

Salad Days

Last year, my family hosted a German exchange student for a few weeks. As a gift, he left us a cookbook with traditional recipes from his region. Being a foodie my-self, I was excited to try them.  READ MORE


When I can, I look for land for sale, midway between Raleigh, North Carolina, where the kids and grand-children live, and the Urgent Care office in Fayetteville, where I work.  READ MORE

Our Dog-Gone Garden

Old Compost Breath has been laid to rest. We buried our sightless Border Collie—in keeping with his nature—at the foot of the garden, just ten feet away from his beloved compost bin.  READ MORE

Don’t Bully Your Plants

Plants have feelings, just like people. So what happens when you feed one plant with compliments and another with negative remarks?” asked the Swedish company IKEA.  READ MORE

The Vines in the Pines

I grew pumpkins this year. Yes, I know. I did it, anyway. Life just doesn’t seem as sweet when you only do things that make sense.  READ MORE

The Garden and I

My garden and I have reconciled. The relationship had teetered for a year, then almost dissolved completely when I, in an attempt to give it some special attention, splurged on $75 worth of Casa Blanca lily bulbs and saw not one of them bloom.  READ MORE

Picking Up Pecans

My husband and I (by the way, we just celebrated our 48th wedding anniversary) live on his deceased father’s farm here in Tecumseh, Oklahoma. There are a few pecan trees on the place.  READ MORE

My Uncommon Sense

A few years ago I was asked to plan the gardens of a big estate in northern New Mexico. The site was in a lazy bend of the Rio Grande River, between the main house and outbuildings.  READ MORE

My Ninety Acres

I had a friend, a little old man, who lived over the hill in Pos-sum Run Valley in a small white house on a farm which is known as “My Ninety Acres.” It has never been given that name as farms are named “Long View” or “Shady Grove.”  READ MORE

Autumn Thoughts

Perhaps more than other occupations, gardening lends itself to philosophizing. Knitters, I suppose, can make something of dropped stitches; or cooks can conjure shattering associations with a fallen soufflé. But gardeners (particularly garden writers) will contemplate the seasons...  READ MORE



To Open the Door

A Weed is a Plant


Knowing When


Chronic Pain & Garden Therapy

My Rock-and-Roll ’70s Garden

Still Blooming

The Fragance of Manure

Broken Trowel

I Murdered My Peas!

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