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February 6, 2003
I had forgotten the value of garden therapy – the tender turmoil of choosing which little orphans to rescue from the discount table, the kidinacandystore dilemma of picking just seven perfect primroses, the willitbeenough? moment as the hatchback slams shut, the newboxofcrayons delight of placing (and replacing) (and replacing) each plant, the betterthanbakingbread smell of giving damp earth, my dripping nose unwiped, my knees on concrete unprotected, just the zenlike focus on a familiar task that will be neither rushed nor taken for granted, and finally, the proudbeaming joy of gazing on the finished planter as though it were Givernay itself.