As I cut back the variegated boxwood climbing over the garden wall, I unearthed this lovely rock given to me by my mother-in-law some years ago. She had planted it with hen and chicks and it has sat on the garden ledge ever since. This spring, only a clump of moss remains. Was it the winter sub-zero temperatures that did it, or was the rock too covered over by the boxwood to let sun in? It might have been the boxwood's fault--or mine. As the summer goes on and plants marathon toward their fullest potential, they get away from me--that's all there is to it. Besides, when the boxwood is full and lush, who would think of cutting it back? (Okay, I should have thought to move the rock, but I didn't.)

Now it is spring, when every plant is small and appears to be controllable. Ah yes, how appearances do lie. After a whole day of pruning roses yesterday, I learned anew that they control me--hence the thorns in my thumb today. When I started, I wasn't really planning to cut the shrub roses back too severely, even though I could see by their leggy growth that they should be cut back. Then I looked down near the base and saw that they were sprouting new growth down there, too, but nothing in the middle--a clear shout that they wished to be cut back so that they could start over. I obliged. By 5 p.m. I had a pick-up load of rose canes for the burn pile. Did I cut off my big June bloom? Possibly. Did I do a world of good for the roses? Definitely. There are few things more satisfying in the garden than making that low, deep cut and seeing healthy, green wood. Knowing that I have cut away anything diseased or detrimental fills me with the sense that I may actually be doing something right in the garden to make up for all the things I do wrong. Like killing off the hen and chicks. For my next feat of strength, I'll buy some new poultry and then try to figure out how my mother-in-law managed to get the others planted in this almost soil-less environment. Maybe, like the roses, they will send me a message. Then again, maybe I will just learn to love moss more than I already do.