Prisoners garden. Spies garden. Gardening is good for every soul. But a desire to garden doesn’t a gardner make. A story of slaughtering plants.
Marigolds wither, periwinkles rot, and a tree mysteriously dribbles cat urine. Our writer is in over her head, once more, with plants.
New York’s empty balconies need filling. Our writer inaugurates a new series about urban-gardening warfare and southeastern-facing frustration.